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Date  Due 


THE  GADFLY 


SOME  BOOKS  ABOUT  ITALY. 

Bazin's  The  Italians  of  To-day. 

Translated  by  WILLIAM  MARCHANT.  izmo,  $1.25. 
Treats  of  Elections,  Excessive  Taxation, 
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There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the  whole  book."—  The 

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Falke's  Greece  and  Rome. 

THEIR  LIFE  AND  ART.  Translated  by  WILLIAM 

HAND  BROWNE.    With  over  400  illustrations. 

Quarto.    $10.00. 
Hunt's  History  of  Italy. 

Edition  adapted  for  American  Students.  i6mo. 

80  cents  net. 

Symonds'  Italian  Byways.    «mo.    $1.75. 
— Renaissance  in  Italy.    8vo. 

Part  I.  Age  of  Despots.    $2.00. 

Part    II.  The  Revival  of  Learning.    $2.00. 

Part  III.  The  Fine   Arts.     $2.00. 

Part   IV.    Italian    Literature.     With    Portrait 
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Part  V.  The  Catholic  Reaction.    2  vols.    $4.00. 

— Short  History  of  the  Renaissance. 

lamo.    $1.75. 

Taine's  Italy. 

Rome    and     Naples.       Translated     by    JOHN 

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Florence  and  Venice.       Translated  by  JOHN 

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— Lectures  on  Art. 

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HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  29  W.  23d  St,  N.  Y. 


THE    GADFLY 


E.   L.   VOYNICH 


"What  have  we  to  do  with  Thee,  Thou  Jesus  of  Nazareth  ?r 


NEW   YORK 

HENRY   HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1897 


COPYRIGHT,  1897, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 


THE   MERSHON   COMPANY   PRKSi, 
RAHWAY,   N.  J. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


MY  most  cordial  thanks  are  due  to  the  many 
persons  who  helped  me  to  collect,  in  Italy,  the 
materials  for  this  story.  I  am  especially  indebted 
to  the  officials  of  the  Marucelliana  Library  of 
Florence,  and  of  the  State  Archives  and  Civic 
Museum  of  Bologna,  for  their  courtesy  and 
kindness. 


PART    I. 


THE   GADFLY 


PART    I. 


CHAPTER    I. 

ARTHUR  sat  in  the  library  of  the  theological 
seminary  at  Pisa,  looking  through  a  pile  of  manu- 
script sermons.  It  was  a  hot  evening  in  June,  and 
the  windows  stood  wide  open,  with  the  shutters 
half  closed  for  coolness.  The  Father  Director, 
Canon  Montauelli,  paused  a  moment  in  his  writ- 
ing to  glance  lovingly  at  the  black  head  bent  over 
the  papers. 

"  Can't  you  find  it,  carino?  Never  mind;  I 
must  rewrite  the  passage.  Possibly  it  has  got 
torn  up,  and  I  have  kept  you  all  this  time  for 
nothing." 

Montanelli's  voice  was  rather  low,  but  full  and 
resonant,  with  a  silvery  purity  of  tone  that  gave  to 
his  speech  a  peculiar  charm.  It  was  the  voice  of  a 
born  orator,  rich  in  possible  modulations.  When 
he  spoke  to  Arthur  its  note  was  always  that  of  a 
caress. 

"  No,  Padre,  I  must  find  it ;  I'm  sure  you  put 
it  here.  You  will  never  make  it  the  same  by 
rewriting." 


4  THE  GADFLY. 

Montanelli  went  on  with  his  work.  A  sleepy 
cockchafer  hummed  drowsily  outside  the  window, 
and  the  long,  melancholy  call  of  a  fruitseller  echoed 
down  the  street:  "  Fragola!  fragola!  " 

"'  On  the  Healing  of  the  Leper';  here  it  is." 
Arthur  came  across  the  room  with  the  velvet  tread 
that  always  exasperated  the  good  folk  at  home. 
He  was  a  slender  little  creature,  more  like  an  Ital- 
ian in  a  sixteenth-century  portrait  than  a  middle- 
class  English  lad  of  the  thirties.  From  the  long 
eyebrows  and  sensitive  mouth  to  the  small  hands 
and  feet,  everything  about  him  was  too  much 
chiseled,  overdelicate.  Sitting  still,  he  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  very  pretty  girl  masquerad- 
ing in  male  attire;  but  when  he  moved,  his  lithe 
agility  suggested  a  tame  panther  without  the 
claws. 

"  Is  that  really  it?  What  should  I  do 
without  you,  Arthur?  I  should  always  be  los- 
ing my  things.  No,  I  am  not  going  to  write  any 
more  now.  Come  out  into  the  garden,  and  I  will 
help  you  with  your  work.  What  is  the  bit  you 
couldn't  understand?  " 

They  went  out  into  the  still,  shadowy  cloister 
garden.  The  seminary  occupied  the  buildings  of 
an  old  Dominican  monastery,  and  two  hundred 
years  ago  the  square  courtyard  had  been  stiff  and 
trim,  and  the  rosemary  and  lavender  had  grown  in 
close-cut  bushes  between  the  straight  box  edgings. 
Now  the  white-robed  monks  who  had  tended 
them  were  laid  away  and  forgotten;  but  the 
scented  herbs  flowered  still  in  the  gracious  mid- 
summer evening,  though  no  man  gathered  their 
blossoms  for  simples  any  more.  Tufts  of  wild 
parsley  and  columbine  filled  the  cracks  between 
the  flagged  footways,  and  the  well  in  the  middle 


THE  GADFLY.  5 

of  the  courtyard  was  given  up  to  ferns  and  matted 
stone-crop.  The  roses  had  run  wild,  and  their 
straggling  suckers  trailed  across  the  paths;  in  the 
box  borders  flared  great  red  poppies;  tall  fox- 
gloves drooped  above  the  tangled  grasses;  and  the 
old  vine,  untrained  and  barren  of  fruit,  swayed 
from  the  branches  of  the  neglected  medlar-tree, 
shaking  a  leafy  head  with  slow  and  sad  persistence. 

In  one  corner  stood  a  huge  summer-flowering 
magnolia,  a  tower  of  dark  foliage,  splashed 
here  and  there  with  milk-white  blossoms.  A 
rough  wooden  bench  had  been  placed  against  the 
trunk;  and  on  this  Montanelli  sat  down.  Arthur 
was  studying  philosophy  at  the  university;  and, 
coming  to  a  difficulty  with  a  book,  had  applied  to 
"  the  Padre "  for  an  explanation  of  the  point. 
Montanelli  was  a  universal  encyclopaedia  to  him, 
though  he  had  never  been  a  pupil  of  the  seminary. 

"  I  had  better  go  now,"  he  said  when  the  passage 
had  been  cleared  up;  "  unless  you  want  me  for 
anything." 

"  I  don't  want  to  work  any  more,  but  I  should 
like  you  to  stay  a  bit  if  you  have  time." 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  He  leaned  back  against  the  tree- 
trunk  and  looked  up  through  the  dusky  branches 
at  the  first  faint  stars  glimmering  in  a  quiet  sky. 
The  dreamy,  mystical  eyes,  deep  blue  under  black 
lashes,  were  an  inheritance  from  his  Cornish 
mother,  and  Montanelli  turned  his  head  away,  that 
he  might  not  see  them. 

'  You  are  looking  tired,  carino,"  he  said. 

"  I  can't  help  it."  There  was  a  weary  sound 
in  Arthur's  voice,  and  the  Padre  noticed  it  at 
once. 

'  You  should  not  have  gone  up  to  college  so 
soon;  you  were  tired  out  with  sick-nursing  and 


6  THE  GADFLY. 

being  up  at  night.  I  ought  to  have  insisted  on 
your  taking  a  thorough  rest  before  you  left 
Leghorn." 

"  Oh,  Padre,  what's  the  use  of  that?  I  couldn't 
stop  in  that  miserable  house  after  mother  died. 
Julia  would  have  driven  me  mad!  " 

Julia  was  his  eldest  step-brother's  wife,  and  a 
thorn  in  his  side. 

"  I  should  not  have  wished  you  to  stay  with  your 
relatives,"  Montanelli  answered  gently.  "  I  am 
sure  it  would  have  been  the  worst  possible  thing 
for  you.  But  I  wish  you  could  have  accepted  the 
invitation  of  your  English  doctor  friend;  if  you  had 
spent  a  month  in  his  house  you  would  have  been 
more  fit  to  study." 

"  No,  Padre,  I  shouldn't  indeed!  The  Warrens 
are  very  good  and  kind,  but  they  don't  understand; 
and  then  they  are  sorry  for  me, — I  can  see  it  in 
all  their  faces, — and  they  would  try  to  console  me, 
and  talk  about  mother.  Gemma  wouldn't,  of 
course;  she  always  knew  what  not  to  say,  even 
when  we  were  babies;  but  the  others  would. 
And  it  isn't  only  that— 

"  What  is  it  then,  my  son?  " 

Arthur  pulled  off  some  blossoms  from  a  droop- 
ing foxglove  stem  and  crushed  them  nervously  in 
his  hand. 

"  I  can't  bear  the  town,"  he  began  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause.  "  There  are  the  shops  where  she 
used  to  buy  me  toys  when  I  was  a  little  thing,  and 
the  walk  along  the  shore  where  I  used  to  take  her 
until  she  got  too  ill.  Wherever  I  go  it's  the  same 
thing;  every  market-girl  comes  up  to  me  with 
bunches  of  flowers — as  if  I  wanted  them  now! 
And  there's  the  church-yard — I  had  to  get  away; 
it  made  me  sick  to  see  the  place — 


THE  GADFLY.  7 

He  broke  off  and  sat  tearing  the  foxglove  bells 
to  pieces.  The  silence  was  so  long  and  deep  that 
he  looked  up,  wondering  why  the  Padre  did  not 
speak.  It  was  growing  dark  under  the  branches 
of  the  magnolia,  and  everything  seemed  dim  and 
indistinct;  but  there  was  light  enough  to  show  the 
ghastly  paleness  of  Montanelli's  face.  He  was 
bending  his  head  down,  his  right  hand  tightly 
clenched  upon  the  edge  of  the  bench.  Arthur 
looked  away  with  a  sense  of  awe-struck  wonder. 
It  was  as  though  he  had  stepped  unwittingly  on  to 
holy  ground. 

"  My  God!  "  he  thought;  "  how  small  and  selfish 
I  am  beside  him!  If  my  trouble  were  his  own  he 
couldn't  feel  it  more." 

Presently  Montanelli  raised  his  head  and  looked 
round.  "  I  won't  press  you  to  go  back  there;  at 
all  events,  just  now,"  he  said  in  his  most  caressing 
tone;  "but  you  must  promise  me  to  take  a 
thorough  rest  when  your  vacation  begins  this 
summer.  I  think  you  had  better  get  a  holiday 
right  away  from  the  neighborhood  of  Leghorn.  I 
can't  have  you  breaking  down  in  health." 

"  Where  shall  you  go  when  the  seminary  closes, 
Padre?" 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  the  pupils  into  the  hills, 
as  usual,  and  see  them  settled  there.  But  by  the 
middle  of  August  the  subdirector  will  be  back 
from  his  holiday.  I  shall  try  to  get  up  into  the 
Alps  for  a  little  change.  Will  you  come  with  me? 
I  could  take  you  for  some  long  mountain  rambles, 
and  you  would  like  to  study  the  Alpine  mosses  and 
lichens.  But  perhaps  it  would  be  rather  dull  for 
you  alone  with  me?  " 

"  Padre!  "  Arthur  clasped  his  hands  in  what 
Julia  called  his  "  demonstrative  foreign  way."  "  I 


8  THE  GADFLY. 

would  give  anything  on  earth  to  go  away  with 
you.  Only — 1  am  not  sure —  He  stopped. 

"  You  don't  thing  Mr.  Burton  would  allow 
it?" 

"  He  wouldn't  like  it,  of  course,  but  he  could 
hardly  interfere.  I  am  eighteen  now  and  can  do 
what  I  choose.  After  all,  he's  only  my  step- 
brother; I  don't  see  that  I  owe  him  obedience. 
He  was  always  unkind  to  mother." 

"  But  if  he  seriously  objects,  I  think  you  had 
better  not  defy  his  wishes;  you  may  find  your 
position  at  home  made  much  harder  if— 

"  Not  a  bit  harder!  "  Arthur  broke  in  passion- 
ately. "  They  always  did  hate  me  and  always 
will — it  doesn't  matter  what  I  do.  Besides,  how 
can  James  seriously  object  to  my  going  away  with 
you — with  my  father  confessor?  " 

"  He  is  a  Protestant,  remember.  However,  you 
had  better  write  to  him,  and  we  will  wait  to  hear 
what  he  thinks.  But  you  must  not  be  impatient, 
my  son;  it  matters  just  as  much  what  you  do, 
whether  people  hate  you  or  love  you." 

The  rebuke  was  so  gently  given  that  Arthur 
hardly  coloured  under  it.  "  Yes,  I  know,"  he 
answered,  sighing;  "  but  it  is  so  difficult— 

"  I  was  sorry  you  could  not  come  to  me  on 
Tuesday  evening,"  Montanelli  said,  abruptly  in- 
troducing a  new  subject.  "  The  Bishop  of  Arezzo 
was  here,  and  I  should  have  liked  you  to  meet 
him." 

"  I  had  promised  one  of  the  students  to  go  to  a 
meeting  at  his  lodgings,  and  they  would  have  been 
expecting  me." 

"  What  sort  of  meeting?  " 

Arthur  seemed  embarrassed  by  the  question. 
"  It — it  was  n-not  a  r-regular  meeting,"  he  said 


THE  GADFLY.  g 

with  a  nervous  little  stammer.  "  A  student  had 
come  from  Genoa,  and  he  made  a  speech  to  us — 
a-a  sort  of — lecture." 

"  What  did  he  lecture  about?  " 

Arthur  hesitated.  "  You  won't  ask  me  his 
name,  Padre,  will  you?  Because  I  promised " 

"  I  will  ask  you  no  questions  at  all,  and  if  you 
have  promised  secrecy  of  course  you  must  not  tell 
me;  but  I  think  you  can  almost  trust  me  by  this 
time." 

"  Padre,  of  course  I  can.  He  spoke  about — us 
and  our  duty  to  the  people — and  to — our  own 
selves;  and  about — what  we  might  do  to 
help " 

"  To  help  whom  ?" 

"  The  contadini — and " 

"And?" 

"  Italy." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  Tell  me,  Arthur,"  said  Montanelli,  turning  to 
him  and  speaking  very  gravely,  "  how  long  have 
you  been  thinking  about  this?  " 

"  Since — last  winter." 

"  Before  your  mother's  death?  And  did  she 
know  of  it?  " 

"  N-no.    I — I  didn't  care  about  it  then." 

"  And  now  you — care  about  it?  " 

Arthur  pulled  another  handful  of  bells  off  the 
foxglove. 

"  It  was  this  way,  Padre,"  he  began,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  ground.  "  When  I  was  preparing  for 
the  entrance  examination  last  autumn,  I  got  to 
know  a  good  many  of  the  students;  you  remem- 
ber? Well,  some  of  them  began  to  talk  to  me 
about — all  these  things,  and  lent  me  books.  But 
I  didn't  care  much  about  it;  I  always  wanted  to 


I0  THE  GADFLY. 

get  home  quick  to  mother.  You  see,  she  was  quite 
alone  among  them  all  in  that  dungeon  of  a  house; 
and  Julia's  tongue  was  enough  to  kill  her.  Then, 
in  the  winter,  when  she  got  so  ill,  I  forgot  all  about 
the  students  and  their  books;  and  then,  you  know, 
1  left  off  coming  to  Pisa  altogether.  I  should  have 
talked  to  mother  if  I  had  thought  of  it;  but  it  went 
right  out  of  my  head.  Then  i  found  out  that  she 

was  going  to  die You  know,  I  was  almost 

constantly  with  her  towards  the  end;  often  I  would 
sit  up  the  night,  and  Gemma  Warren  would  come 
in  the  day  to  let  me  get  to  sleep.  Well,  it  was  in 
those  long  nights;  I  got  thinking  about  the  books 
and  about  what  the  students  had  said — and  won- 
dering— whether  they  were  right  and — what — 
Our  Lord  would  have  said  about  it  all." 

"  Did  you  ask  Him?  "  Montanelli's  voice  was 
not  quite  steady. 

"  Often,  Padre.  Sometimes  I  have  prayed  to 
Him  to  tell  me  what  I  must  do,  or  to  let  me  die 
with  mother.  But  I  couldn't  find  any  answer." 

"  And  you  never  said  a  word  to  me.  Arthur,  I 
hoped  you  could  have  trusted  me." 

"  Padre,  you  know  I  trust  you!  But  there  are 
some  things  you  can't  talk  about  to  anyone.  I — it 
seemed  to  me  that  no  one  could  help  me — not 
even  you  or  mother;  I  must  have  my  own  answer 
straight  from  God.  You  see,  it  is  for  all  my  life 
and  all  my  soul." 

Montanelli  turned  away  and  stared  into  the 
dusky  gloom  of  the  magnolia  branches.  The 
twilight  was  so  dim  that  his  figure  had  a  shadowy 
look,  like  a  dark  ghost  among  the  darker  boughs. 

"  And  then?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

"  And  then — she  died.  You  know,  I  had  been 
up  the  last  three  nights  with  her — 


THE  GADFLY.  „ 

He  broke  off  and  paused  a  moment,  but  Mon- 
tanelli  did  not  move. 

"  All  those  two  days  before  they  buried  her," 
Arthur  went  on  in  a  lower  voice,  "  I  couldn't  think 
about  anything.  Then,  after  the  funeral,  I  was  ill; 
you  remember,  I  couldn't  come  to  confession." 

"  Yes;  I  remember." 

"  Well,  in  the  night  I  got  up  and  went  into 
mother's  room.  It  was  all  empty;  there  was  only 
the  great  crucifix  in  the  alcove.  And  I  thought 
perhaps  God  would  help  me.  I  knelt  down 
and  waited — all  night.  And  in  the  morning 
when  I  came  to  my  senses — Padre,  it  isn't  any  use; 
I  can't  explain.  I  can't  tell  you  what  I  saw — I 
hardly  know  myself.  But  I  know  that  God  has 
answered  me,  and  that  I  dare  not  disobey  Him." 

For  a  moment  they  sat  quite  silent  in  the  dark- 
ness. Then  Montanelli  turned  and  laid  his  hand 
on  Arthur's  shoulder. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  God  forbid  that  I  should 
say  He  has  not  spoken  to  your  soul.  But  remem- 
ber your  condition  when  this  thing  happened,  and 
do  not  take  the  fancies  of  grief  or  illness  for  His 
solemn  call.  And  if,  indeed,  it  has  been  His  will 
to  answer  you  out  of  the  shadow  of  death,  be  sure 
that  you  put  no  false  construction  on  His  word. 
What  is  this  thing  you  have  it  in  your  heart 
to  do?  " 

Arthur  stood  up  and  answered  slowly,  as  though 
repeating  a  catechism: 

'  To  give  up  my  life  to  Italy,  to  help  in  freeing 
her  from  all  this  slavery  and  wretchedness,  and  in 
driving  out  the  Austrians,  that  she  may  be  a 
free  republic,  with  no  king  but  Christ." 

"  Arthur,  think  a  moment  what  you  are  saying! 
You  are  not  even  an  Italian." 


I2  THE  GADFLY. 

'  That  makes  no  difference;  I  am  myself.  I 
have  seen  this  thing,  and  I  belong  to  it." 

There  was  silence  again. 

"  You  spoke  just  now  of  what  Christ  would  have 

said "  Montanelli  began  slowly;  but  Arthur 

interrupted  him: 

"  Christ  said:  '  He  that  loseth  his  life  for  my 
sake  shall  find  it.' ' 

Montanelli  leaned  his  arm  against  a  branch,  and 
shaded  his  eyes  with  one  hand. 

"  Sit  down  a  moment,  my  son,"  he  said  at 
last. 

Arthur  sat  down,  and  the  Padre  took  both  his 
hands  in  a  strong  and  steady  clasp. 

"  I  cannot  argue  with  you  to-night,"  he  said; 
"  this  has  come  upon  me  so  suddenly — I  had  not 
thought — I  must  have  time  to  think  it  over. 
Later  on  we  will  talk  more  definitely.  But,  for 
just  now,  I  want  you  to  remember  one  thing.  If 
you  get  into  trouble  over  this,  if  you — die,  you 
will  break  my  heart." 

"  Padre " 

"  No;  let  me  finish  what  I  have  to  say.  I  told 
you  once  that  I  have  no  one  in  the  world  but  you. 
I  think  you  do  not  fully  understand  what  that 
means.  It  is  difficult  when  one  is  so  young;  at 
your  age  I  should  not  have  understood.  Arthur, 
you  are  as  my — as  my — own  son  to  me.  Do  you 
see?  You  are  the  light  of  my  eyes  and  the  desire 
of  my  heart.  I  would  die  to  keep  you  from  mak- 
ing a  false  step  and  ruining  your  life.  But  there 
is  nothing  I  can  do.  I  don't  ask  you  to  make  any 
promises  to  me;  I  only  ask  you  to  remember  this, 
and  to  be  careful.  Think  well  before  you  take  an 
irrevocable  step,  for  my  sake,  if  not  for  the  sake 
of  your  mother  in  heaven." 


THE  GADFLY.  I3 

"  I  will  think — and — Padre,  pray  for  me,  and  for 
Italy." 

He  knelt  down  in  silence,  and  in  silence  Mon- 
tanelli laid  his  hand  on  the  bent  head.  A  moment 
later  Arthur  rose,  kissed  the  hand,  and  went 
softly  away  across  the  dewy  grass.  Montanelli 
sat  alone  under  the  magnolia  tree,  looking  straight 
before  him  into  the  blackness. 

"  It  is  the  vengeance  of  God  that  has  fallen  upon 
me,"  he  thought,  "  as  it  fell  upon  David.  I,  that 
have  defiled  His  sanctuary,  and  taken  the  Body  of 
the  Lord  into  polluted  hands, — He  has  been  very 
patient  with  me,  and  now  it  is  come.  '  For  thou 
didst  it  secretly,  but  I  will  do  this  thing  before  all 
Israel,  and  before  the  sun;  the  child  that  is  born 
unto  thee  shall  surely  die.' ' 


CHAPTER  II. 

MR.  JAMES  BURTON  did  not  at  all  like  the  idea 
of  his  young  step-brother  "  careering  about  Switz- 
erland "  with  Montanelli.  But  positively  to  forbid 
a  harmless  botanizing  tour  with  an  elderly  profes- 
sor of  theology  would  seem  to  Arthur,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  reason  for  the  prohibition,  absurdly 
tyrannical.  He  would  immediately  attribute  it  to 
religious  or  racial  prejudice;  and  the  Burtons 
prided  themselves  on  their  enlightened  tolerance. 
The  whole  family  had  been  staunch  Protestants 
and  Conservatives  ever  since  Burton  &  Sons,  ship- 
owners, of  London  and  Leghorn,  had  first  set  up 
in  business,  more  than  a  century  back.  But  they 
held  that  English  gentlemen  must  deal  fairly,  even 
with  Papists;  and  when  the  head  of  the  house, 
finding  it  dull  to  remain  a  widower,  had  married 


I4  THE  GADFLY. 

the  pretty  Catholic  governess  of  his  younger  chil- 
dren, the  two  elder  sons,  James  and  Thomas,  much 
as  they  resented  the  presence  of  a  step-mother 
hardly  older  than  themselves,  had  submitted  with 
sulky  resignation  to  the  will  of  Providence.  Since 
the  father's  death  the  eldest  brother's  marriage 
had  further  complicated  an  already  difficult  posi- 
tion; but  both  brothers  had  honestly  tried  to 
protect  Gladys,  as  long  as  she  lived,  from  Julia's 
merciless  tongue,  and  to  do  their  duty,  as  they 
understood  it,  by  Arthur.  They  did  not  even  pre- 
tend to  like  the  lad,  and  their  generosity  towards 
him  showed  itself  chiefly  in  providing  him  with 
lavish  supplies  of  pocket  money  and  allowing  him 
to  go  his  own  way. 

In  answer  to  his  letter,  accordingly,  Arthur  re- 
ceived a  cheque  to  cover  his  expenses  and  a  cold 
permission  to  do  as  he  pleased  about  his  holidays. 
He  expended  half  his  spare  cash  on  botanical  books 
and  pressing-cases,  and  started  off  writh  the  Padre 
for  his  first  Alpine  ramble. 

Montanelli  was  in  lighter  spirits  than  Arthur 
had  seen  him  in  for  a  long  while.  After  the  first 
shock  of  the  conversation  in  the  garden  he  had 
gradually  recovered  his  mental  balance,  and  now 
looked  upon  the  case  more  calmly.  Arthur  was 
very  young  and  inexperienced;  his  decision  could 
hardly  be,  as  yet,  irrevocable.  Surely  there  was 
still  time  to  win  him  back  by  gentle  persuasion  and 
reasoning  from  the  dangerous  path  upon  which 
he  had  barely  entered. 

They  had  intended  to  stay  a  few  days  at  Geneva; 
but  at  the  first  sight  of  the  glaring  white  streets 
and  dusty,  tourist-crammed  promenades,  a  little 
frown  appeared  on  Arthur's  face.  Montanelli 
watched  him  with  quiet  amusement. 


THE  GADFLY.  I5 

.  "  You  don't  like  it,  carino?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  It's  so  different  from  what  I 
expected.  Yes,  the  lake  is  beautiful,  and  I  like  the 
shape  of  those  hills."  They  were  standing  on 
Rousseau's  Island,  and  he  pointed  to  the  long, 
severe  outlines  of  the  Savoy  side.  "  But  the  town 
looks  so  stiff  and  tidy,  somehow — so  Protestant; 
it  has  a  self-satisfied  air.  No,  I  don't  like  it;  it 
reminds  me  of  Julia." 

Montanelli  laughed.  "  Poor  boy,  what  a  mis- 
fortune! Well,  we  are  here  for  our  own  amuse- 
ment, so  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  stop. 
Suppose  we  take  a  sail  on  the  lake  to-day,  and  go 
up  into  the  mountains  to-morrow  morning?  " 

"  But,  Padre,  you  wanted  to  stay  here?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  have  seen  all  these  places  a 
dozen  times.  My  holiday  is  to  see  your  pleasure. 
Where  would  you  like  to  go?  " 

"  If  it  is  really  the  same  to  you,  I  should  like  to 
follow  the  river  back  to  its  source." 

"  The  Rhone? " 

"  No,  the  Arve;  it  runs  so  fast." 

"  Then  we  will  go  to  Chamonix." 

They  spent  the  afternoon  drifting  about  in  a 
little  sailing  boat.  The  beautiful  lake  produced 
far  less  impression  upon  Arthur  than  the  gray  and 
muddy  Arve.  He  had  grown  up  beside  the  Medi- 
terranean, and  was  accustomed  to  blue  ripples; 
but  he  had  a  positive  passion  for  swiftly  moving 
water,  and  the  hurried  rushing  of  the  glacier 
stream  delighted  him  beyond  measure.  "  It  is  so 
much  in  earnest,"  he  said. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  they  started  for 
Chamonix.  Arthur  was  in  very  high  spirits  while 
driving  through  the  fertile  valley  country;  but 
when  they  entered  upon  the  winding  road  near 


!6  THE  GADFLY. 

Cluses,  and  the  great,  jagged  hills  closed  in  around 
them,  he  became  serious  and  silent.  From  St.  Mar- 
tin they  walked  slowly  up  the  valley,  stopping  to 
sleep  at  wayside  chalets  or  tiny  mountain  villages, 
and  wandering  on  again  as  their  fancy  directed. 
Arthur  was  peculiarly  sensitive  to  the  influence  of 
scenery,  and  the  first  waterfall  that  they  passed 
threw  him  into  an  ecstacy  which  was  delightful  to 
see;  but  as  they  drew  nearer  to  the  snow-peaks 
he  passed  out  of  this  rapturous  mood  into  one  of 
dreamy  exaltation  that  Montanelli  had  not  seen 
before.  There  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  mystical  re- 
lationship between  him  and  the  mountains.  He 
would  lie  for  hours  motionless  in  the  dark,  secret, 
echoing  pine-forests,  looking  out  between  the 
straight,  tall  trunks  into  the  sunlit  outer  world  of 
flashing  peaks  and  barren  cliffs.  Montanelli 
watched  him  with  a  kind  of  sad  envy. 

"  I  wish  you  could  show  me  what  you  see, 
carino,"  he  said  one  day  as  he  looked  up  from  his 
book,  and  saw  Arthur  stretched  beside  him  on  the 
moss  in  the  same  attitude  as  an  hour  before,  gaz- 
ing out  with  wide,  dilated  eyes  into  the  glittering 
expanse  of  blue  and  white.  They  had  turned  aside 
from  the  high-road  to  sleep  at  a  quiet  village  near 
the  falls  of  the  Diosaz,  and,  the  sun  being  already 
low  in  a  cloudless  sky,  had  mounted  a  point  of  pine- 
clad  rock  to  wait  for  the  Alpine  glow  over  the 
dome  and  needles  of  the  Mont  Blanc  chain.  Ar- 
thur raised  his  head  with  eyes  full  of  wonder  and 
mystery. 

"  What  I  see,  Padre?  I  see  a  great,  white  being 
in  a  blue  void  that  has  no  beginning  and  no  end. 
I  see  it  waiting,  age  after  age,  for  the  coming  of  the 
Spirit  of  God.  I  see  it  through  a  glass  darkly." 

Montanelli  sighed. 


THE  GADFLY.  I7 

"  I  used  to  see  those  things  once." 

"  Do  you  never  see  them  now?  " 

"  Never.  I  shall  not  see  them  any  more.  They 
are  there,  I  know;  but  I  have  not  the  eyes  to  see 
them.  I  see  quite  other  things." 

"  What  do  you  see?  " 

"  I,  carino?  I  see  a  blue  sky  and  a  snow-moun- 
tain— that  is  all  when  I  look  up  into  the  heights. 
But  down  there  it  is  different." 

He  pointed  to  the  valley  below  them.  Arthur 
knelt  down  and  bent  over  the  sheer  edge  of  the 
precipice.  The  great  pine  trees,  dusky  in  the  gath- 
ering shades  of  evening,  stood  like  sentinels  along 
the  narrow  banks  confining  the  river.  Presently 
the  sun,  red  as  a  glowing  coal,  dipped  behind  a 
jagged  mountain  peak,  and  all  the  life  and  light 
deserted  the  face  of  nature.  Straightway  there 
came  upon  the  valley  something  dark  and  threat- 
ening— sullen,  terrible,  full  of  spectral  weapons. 
The  perpendicular  cliffs  of  the  barren  western 
mountains  seemed  like  the  teeth  of  a  monster 
lurking  to  snatch  a  victim  and  drag  him  down  into 
the  maw  of  the  deep  valley,  black  with  its  moan- 
ing forests.  The  pine  trees  were  rows  of  knife- 
blades  whispering:  "Fall  upon  us!"  and  in  the 
gathering  darkness  the  torrent  roared  and  howled, 
beating  against  its  rocky  prison  walls  with  the 
frenzy  of  an  everlasting  despair. 

"  Padre!  "  Arthur  rose,  shuddering,  and  drew 
back  from  the  precipice.  "  It  is  like  hell." 

"  No,  my  son,"  Montanelli  answered  softly,  "  it 
is  only  like  a  human  soul." 

'  The  souls  of  them  that  sit  in  darkness  and  in 
the  shadow  of  death?  " 

'  The  souls  of  them  that  pass  you  day  by  day 
in  the  street." 


!g  THE  GADFLY. 

Arthur  shivered,  looking  down  into  the  shad- 
ows. A  dim  white  mist  was  hovering  among  the 
pine  trees,  clinging  faintly  about  the  desperate 
agony  of  the  torrent,  like  a  miserable  ghost  that 
had  no  consolation  to  give. 

"  Look!  "  Arthur  said  suddenly.  "  The  people 
that  walked  in  darkness  have  seen  a  great 
light." 

Eastwards  the  snow-peaks  burned  in  the  after- 
glow. When  the  red  light  had  faded  from  the 
summits  Montanelli  turned  and  roused  Arthur 
with  a  touch  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Come  in,  carino;  all  the  light  is  gone.  We 
shall  lose  our  way  in  the  dark  if  we  stay  any 
longer." 

"  It  is  like  a  corpse,"  Arthur  said  as  he  turned 
away  from  the  spectral  face  of  the  great  snow- 
peak  glimmering  through  the  twilight. 

They  descended  cautiously  among  the  black 
trees  to  the  chalet  where  they  were  to  sleep. 

As  Montanelli  entered  the  room  where  Arthur 
was  waiting  for  him  at  the  supper  table,  he  saw 
that  the  lad  seemed  to  have  shaken  off  the  ghostly 
fancies  of  the  dark,  and  to  have  changed  into  quite 
another  creature. 

"  Oh,  Padre,  do  come  and  look  at  this  absurd 
dog!  It  can  dance  on  its  hind  legs." 

He  was  as  much  absorbed  in  the  dog  and  its 
accomplishments  as  he  had  been  in  the  after-glow. 
The  woman  of  the  chalet,  red-faced  and  white- 
aproned,  with  sturdy  arms  akimbo,  stood  by  smil- 
ing, while  he  put  the  animal  through  its  tricks. 
"  One  can  see  there's  not  much  on  his  mind  if  he 
can  carry  on  that  way,"  she  said  in  patois  to  her 
daughter.  "  And  what  a  handsome  lad!  " 

Arthur    coloured    like    a    schoolgirl,    and    the 


THE  GADFLY.  I9 

woman,  seeing  that  he  had  understood,  went  away 
laughing  at  his  confusion.  At  supper  he  talked  of 
nothing  but  plans  for  excursions,  mountain 
ascents,  and  botanizing  expeditions.  Evidently 
his  dreamy  fancies  had  not  interfered  with  either 
his  spirits  or  his  appetite. 

When  Montanelli  awoke  the  next  morning  Ar- 
thur had  disappeared.  He  had  started  before  day- 
break for  the  higher  pastures  "  to  help  Gaspard 
drive  up  the  goats." 

Breakfast  had  not  long  been  on  the  table,  how- 
ever, when  he  came  tearing  into  the  room,  hat- 
less,  with  a  tiny  peasant  girl  of  three  years  old 
perched  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  great  bunch  of  wild 
flowers  in  his  hand. 

Montanelli  looked  up,  smiling.  This  was  a  curi- 
ous contrast  to  the  grave  and  silent  Arthur  of  Pisa 
or  Leghorn. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  you  madcap?  Scamper- 
ing all  over  the  mountains  without  any  break- 
fast?" 

"  Oh,  Padre,  it  was  so  jolly!  The  mountains 
look  perfectly  glorious  at  sunrise;  and  the  dew  is 
so  thick!  Just  look!" 

He  lifted  for  inspection  a  wet  and  muddy  boot. 

"  We  took  some  bread  and  cheese  with  us,  and 
got  some  goat's  milk  up  there  on  the  pasture;  oh,  it 
was  nasty!  But  I'm  hungry  again,  now;  and  I 
want  something  for  this  little  person,  too. 
Annette,  won't  you  have  some  honey?  " 

He  had  sat  down  with  the  child  on  his  knee,  and 
was  helping  her  to  put  the  flowers  in  order. 

"No,  no!"  Montanelli  interposed.  "I  can't 
have  you  catching  cold.  Run  and  change  your  wet 
things.  Come  to  me,  Annette.  Where  did  you 
pick  her  up?  " 


20  THE  GADFLY. 

"  At  the  top  of  the  village.  She  belongs  to  the 
man  we  saw  yesterday — the  man  that  cobbles  the 
commune's  boots.  Hasn't  she  lovely  eyes?  She's 
got  a  tortoise  in  her  pocket,  and  she  calls  it 
'  Caroline.' ' 

When  Arthur  had  changed  his  wet  socks  and 
came  down  to  breakfast  he  found  the  child  seated 
on  the  Padre's  knee,  chattering  volubly  to  him 
about  her  tortoise,  which  she  was  holding  upside 
down  in  a  chubby  hand,  that  "  monsieur  "  might 
admire  the  wriggling  legs. 

"  Look,  monsieur!  "  she  was  saying  gravely  in 
her  half-intelligible  patois:  "  Look  at  Caroline's 
boots!" 

Montanelli  sat  playing  with  the  child,  stroking 
her  hair,  admiring  her  darling  tortoise,  and  tell- 
ing her  wonderful  stories.  The  woman  of  the 
chalet,  coming  in  to  clear  the  table,  stared  in 
amazement  at  the  sight  of  Annette  turning  out 
the  pockets  of  the  grave  gentleman  in  clerical 
dress. 

il  God  teaches  the  little  ones  to  know  a  good 
man,"  she  said.  "  Annette  is  always  afraid  of 
strangers;  and  see,  she  is  not  shy  with  his  reverence 
at  all.  The  wonderful  thing!  Kneel  down, 
Annette,  and  ask  the  good  monsieur's  blessing 
before  he  goes;  it  will  bring  thee  luck." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  could  play  with  children 
that  way,  Padre,"  Arthur  said  an  hour  later,  as 
they  walked  through  the  sunlit  pasture-land. 
"  That  child  never  took  her  eyes  off  you  all  the 
time.  Do  you  know,  I  think 

"  Yes?  " 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say — it  seems  to  me 
almost  a  pity  that  the  Church  should  forbid  priests 
to  marry.  I  cannot  quite  understand  why.  You 


THE  GADFLY.  2l 

see,  the  training  of  children  is  such  a  serious  thing, 
and  it  means  so  much  to  them  to  be  surrounded 
from  the  very  beginning  with  good  influences,  that 
I  should  have  thought  the  holier  a  man's  vocation 
and  the  purer  his  life,  the  more  fit  he  is  to  be  a 
father.  I  am  sure,  Padre,  if  you  had  not  been 
under  a  vow, — if  you  had  married, — your  children 
would  have  been  the  very " 

"Hush!" 

The  word  was  uttered  in  a  hasty  whisper  that 
seemed  to  deepen  the  ensuing  silence. 

"  Padre,"  Arthur  began  again,  distressed  by  the 
other's  sombre  look,  "  do  you  think  there  is  any- 
thing wrong  in  what  I  said?  Of  course  I  may  be 
mistaken;  but  I  must  think  as  it  comes  natural  to 
me  to  think." 

"  Perhaps,"  Montanelli  answered  gently,  "  you 
do  not  quite  realize  the  meaning  of  what  you  just 
said.  You  will  see  differently  in  a  few  years. 
Meanwhile  we  had  better  talk  about  something 
else." 

It  was  the  first  break  in  the  perfect  ease  and  har- 
mony that  reigned  between  them  on  this  ideal 
holiday. 

From  Chamonix  they  went  on  by  the  Tete- 
Noire  to  Martigny,  where  they  stopped  to  rest, 
as  the  weather  was  stiflingly  hot.  After  dinner 
they  sat  on  the  terrace  of  the  hotel,  which  was 
sheltered  from  the  sun  and  commanded  a  good 
view  of  the  mountains.  Arthur  brought  out  his 
specimen  box  and  plunged  into  an  earnest  botani- 
cal discussion  in  Italian. 

Two  English  artists  were  sitting  on  the  terrace; 
one  sketching,  the  other  lazily  chatting.  It  did 
not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  him  that  the  stran- 
gers might  understand  English. 


22  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Leave  off  daubing  at  the  landscape,  Willie," 
he  said;  "  and  draw  that  glorious  Italian  boy  going 
into  ecstasies  over  those  bits  of  ferns.  Just  look 
at  the  line  of  his  eyebrows!  You  only  need  to  put 
a  crucifix  for  the  magnifying-glass  and  a  Roman 
toga  for  the  jacket  and  knickerbockers,  and  there's 
your  Early  Christian  complete,  expression  and 
all." 

"  Early  Christian  be  hanged!  I  sat  beside  that 
youth  at  dinner;  he  was  just  as  ecstatic  over  the 
roast  fowl  as  over  those  grubby  little  weeds.  He's 
pretty  enough;  that  olive  colouring  is  beautiful; 
but  he's  not  half  so  picturesque  as  his  father." 

"  His— who?  " 

"  His  father,  sitting  there  straight  in  front  of 
you.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you've  passed  him  over? 
It's  a  perfectly  magnificent  face." 

"  Why,  you  dunder-headed,  go-to-meeting 
Methodist!  Don't  you  know  a  Catholic  priest 
when  you  see  one?  " 

"A  priest?  By  Jove,  so  he  is!  Yes,  I  forgot; 
vow  of  chastity,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Well 
then,  we'll  be  charitable  and  suppose  the  boy's  his 
nephew." 

''What  idiotic  people!"  Arthur  whispered, 
looking  up  with  dancing  eyes.  "  Still,  it  is  kind  of 
them  to  think  me  like  you;  I  wish  I  were  really 

your  nephew Padre,  what  is  the  matter? 

How  white  you  are!  " 

Montanelli  was  standing  up,  pressing  one  hand 
to  his  forehead.  "  I  am  a  little  giddy,"  he  said  in 
a  curiously  faint,  dull  tone.  "  Perhaps  I  was  too 
much  in  the  sun  this  morning.  I  will  go  and  lie 
down,  carino;  it's  nothing  but  the  heat." 

After  a  fortnight  beside  the  Lake  of  Lucerne 


THE  GADFLY.  33 

Arthur  and  Montanelli  returned  to  Italy  by  the 
St.  Gothard  Pass.  They  had  been  fortunate  as 
to  weather  and  had  made  several  very  pleasant  ex- 
cursions; but  the  first  charm  was  gone  out  of  their 
enjoyment.  Montanelli  was  continually  haunted 
by  an  uneasy  thought  of  the  "  more  definite  talk  " 
for  which  this  holiday  was  to  have  been  the  oppor- 
tunity. In  the  Arve  valley  he  had  purposely 
put  off  all  reference  to  the  subject  of  which  they 
had  spoken  under  the  magnolia  tree;  it  would  be 
cruel,  he  thought,  to  spoil  the  first  delights  of 
Alpine  scenery  for  a  nature  so  artistic  as  Arthur's 
by  associating  them  with  a  conversation  which 
must  necessarily  be  painful.  Ever  since  the  day 
at  Martigny  he  had  said  to  himself  each  morning: 
"  I  will  speak  to-day,"  and  each  evening:  "  I  will 
speak  to-morrow;"  and  now  the  holiday  was  over, 
and  he  still  repeated  again  and  again:  "To-mor- 
row, to-morrow."  A  chill,  indefinable  sense  of 
something  not  quite  the  same  as  it  had  been,  of 
an  invisible  veil  falling  between  himself  and 
Arthur,  kept  him  silent,  until,  on  the  last  even- 
ing of  their  holiday,  he  realized  suddenly  that 
he  must  speak  now  if  he  would  speak  at  all. 
They  were  stopping  for  the  night  at  Lugano, 
and  were  to  start  for  Pisa  next  morning.  He 
would  at  least  find  out  how  far  his  darling  had 
been  drawn  into  the  fatal  quicksand  of  Italian 
politics. 

"  The  rain  has  stopped,  carino,"  he  said  after 
sunset ;  "  and  this  is  the  only  chance  we  shall  have 
to  see  the  lake.  Come  out ;  I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  you." 

They  walked  along  the  water's  edge  to  a  quiet 
spot  and  sat  down  on  a  low  stone  wall.  Close 
beside  them  grew  a  rose-bush,  covered  with  scar- 


24  THE  GADFLY. 

let  hips;  one  or  two  belated  clusters  of  creamy 
blossom  still  hung  from  an  upper  branch,  swaying 
mournfully  and  heavy  with  raindrops.  On  the 
green  surface  of  the  lake  a  little  boat,  with  white 
wings  faintly  fluttering,  rocked  in  the  dewy  breeze. 
It  looked  as  light  and  frail  as  a  tuft  of  silvery 
dandelion  seed  flung  upon  the  water.  High  up 
on  Monte  Salvatore  the  window  of  some  shep- 
herd's hut  opened  a  golden  eye.  The  roses  hung 
their  heads  and  dreamed  under  the  still  Septem- 
ber clouds,  and  the  water  plashed  and  murmured 
softly  among  the  pebbles  of  the  shore. 

"  This  will  be  my  only  chance  of  a  quiet  talk 
with  you  for  a  long  time,"  Montanelli  began. 
"  You  will  go  back  to  your  college  work  and 
friends;  and  I,  too,  shall  be  very  busy  this  winter. 
I  want  to  understand  quite  clearly  what  our  posi- 
tion as  regards  each  other  is  to  be;  and  so,  if 

you He  stopped  for  a  moment  and  then 

continued  more  slowly:  "  If  you  feel  that  you  can 
still  trust  me  as  you  used  to  do,  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  more  definitely  than  that  night  in  the  seminary 
garden,  how  far  you  have  gone." 

Arthur  looked  out  across  the  water,  listened 
quietly,  and  said  nothing. 

"  I  want  to  know,  if  you  will  tell  me,"  Monta- 
nelli went  on;  "  whether  you  have  bound  yourself 
by  a  vow,  or — in  any  way." 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,  dear  Padre;  I  have 
not  bound  myself,  but  I  am  bound." 

"  I  don't  understand— 

"  What  is  the  use  of  vows?  They  are  not  what 
binds  people.  If  you  feel  in  a  certain  way  about 
a  thing,  that  binds  you  to  it;  if  you  don't  feel  that 
way,  nothing  else  can  bind  you." 

"  Do  you  mean,  then,  that  this  thing — this— 


THE  GADFLY.  25 

feeling  is  quite  irrevocable?  Arthur,  have  you 
thought  what  you  are  saying?  " 

Arthur  turned  round  and  looked  straight  into 
Montanelli's  eyes. 

"  Padre,  you  asked  me  if  I  could  trust  you. 
Can  you  not  trust  me,  too?  Indeed,  if  there  were 
anything  to  tell,  I  would  tell  it  to  you;  but  there 
is  no  use  in  talking  about  these  things.  I  have 
not  forgotten  what  you  said  to  me  that  night;  I 
shall  never  forget  it.  But  I  must  go  my  way  and 
follow  the  light  that  I  see." 

Montanelli  picked  a  rose  from  the  bush,  pulled 
off  the  petals  one  by  one,  and  tossed  them  into 
the  water. 

"  You  are  right,  carino.  Yes,  we  will  say  no 
more  about  these  things;  it  seems  there  is  indeed 

no  help  in  many  words Well,  well,  let  us  go 

in." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  autumn  and  winter  passed  uneventfully. 
Arthur  was  reading  hard  and  had  little  spare  time. 
He  contrived  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Montanelli  once 
or  oftener  in  every  week,  if  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  From  time  to  time  he  would  come 
in  to  ask  for  help  with  some  difficult  book;  but 
on  these  occasions  the  subject  of  study  was 
strictly  adhered  to.  Montanelli,  feeling,  rather 
than  observing,  the  slight,  impalpable  barrier  that 
had  come  between  them,  shrank  from  everything 
which  might  seem  like  an  attempt  to  retain  the 
old  close  relationship.  Arthur's  visits  now  caused 
him  more  distress  than  pleasure,  so  trying  was  the 
constant  effort  to  appear  at  ease  and  to  behave  as 


26  THE  GADFLY. 

if  nothing  were  altered.  Arthur,  for  his  part, 
noticed,  hardly  understanding  it,  the  subtle 
change  in  the  Padre's  manner;  and,  vaguely  feel- 
ing that  it  had  some  connection  with  the  vexed 
question  of  the  "  new  ideas,"  avoided  all  mention 
of  the  subject  with  which  his  thoughts  were  con- 
stantly filled.  Yet  he  had  never  loved  Montanelli 
so  deeply  as  now.  The  dim,  persistent  sense  of 
dissatisfaction,  of  spiritual  emptiness,  which  he 
had  tried  so  hard  to  stifle  under  a  load  of  theology 
and  ritual,  had  vanished  into  nothing  at  the  touch 
of  Young  Italy.  All  the  unhealthy  fancies  born  of 
loneliness  and  sick-room  watching  had  passed 
away,  and  the  doubts  against  which  he  used  to 
pray  had  gone  without  the  need  of  exorcism. 
With  the  awakening  of  a  new  enthusiasm,  a 
clearer,  fresher  religious  ideal  (for  it  was  more  in 
this  light  than  in  that  of  a  political  development 
that  the  students'  movement  had  appeared  to 
him),  had  come  a  sense  of  rest  and  completeness, 
of  peace  on  earth  and  good  will  towards  men;  and 
in  this  mood  of  solemn  and  tender  exaltation  all 
the  world  seemed  to  him  full  of  light.  He  found 
a  new  element  of  something  lovable  in  the  persons 
whom  he  had  most  disliked;  and  Montanelli,  who 
for  five  years  had  been  his  ideal  hero,  was  now  in 
his  eyes  surrounded  with  an  additional  halo,  as  a 
potential  prophet  of  the  new  faith.  He  listened 
with  passionate  eagerness  to  the  Padre's  sermons, 
trying  to  find  in  them  some  trace  of  inner  kin- 
ship with  the  republican  ideal;  and  pored  over  the 
Gospels,  rejoicing  in  the  democratic  tendencies  of 
Christianity  at  its  origin. 

One  day  in  January  he  called  at  the  seminary  to 
return  a  book  which  he  had  borrowed.  Hearing 
that  the  Father  Director  was  out,  he  went  up  to 


THE  GADFLY.  27 

Montanelli's  private  study,  placed  the  volume  on 
its  shelf,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room  when 
the  title  of  a  book  lying  on  the  table  caught  his 
eyes.  It  was  Dante's  "  De  Monarchia."  He 
began  to  read  it  and  soon  became  so  absorbed  that 
when  the  door  opened  and  shut  he  did  not  hear. 
He  was  aroused  from  his  preoccupation  by  Monta- 
nelli's voice  behind  him. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to-day,"  said  the  Padre, 
glancing  at  the  title  of  the  book.  "  I  was  just 
going  to  send  and  ask  if  you  could  come  to  me 
this  evening." 

"  Is  it  anything  important?  I  have  an  engage- 
ment for  this  evening;  but  I  will  miss  it  if " 

"  No;  to-morrow  will  do.  I  want  to  see  you 
because  I  am  going  away  on  Tuesday.  I  have 
been  sent  for  to  Rome." 

"  To  Rome?     For  long?  " 

"  The  letter  says,  '  till  after  Easter.'  It  is  from 
the  Vatican.  I  would  have  let  you  know  at  once, 
but  have  been  very  busy  settling  up  things  about 
the  seminary  and  making  arrangements  for  the  new 
Director." 

"  But,  Padre,  surely  you  are  not  giving  up  the 
seminary?  " 

"  It  will  have  to  be  so ;  but  I  shall  probably  come 
back  to  Pisa,  for  some  time  at  least." 

"  But  why  are  you  giving  it  up?  " 

"Well,  it  is  not  yet  officially  announced; 
but  I  am  offered  a  bishopric." 

"Padre!     Where?" 

"  That  is  the  point  about  which  I  have  to  go  to 
Rome.  It  is  not  yet  decided  whether  I  am  to 
take  a  see  in  the  Apennines,  or  to  remain  here  as 
Suffragan." 

"  And  is  the  new  Director  chosen  yet?  " 


28  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Father  Cardi  has  been  nominated  and  arrives 
here  to-morrow." 

"  Is  not  that  rather  sudden?  " 

'  Yes;  but The  decisions  of  the  Vatican 

are    sometimes    not    communicated    till    the    last 
moment." 

"  Do  you  know  the  new  Director?  " 

"  Not  personally;  but  he  is  very  highly  spoken 
of.  Monsignor  Belloni,  who  writes,  says  that  he 
is  a  man  of  great  erudition." 

'  The  seminary  will  miss  you  terribly." 

"  I  don't  know  about  the  seminary,  but  I  am  sure 
you  will  miss  me,  carino;  perhaps  almost  as  much 
as  I  shall  miss  you." 

"  I  shall  indeed;  but  I  am  very  glad,  for  all 
that." 

"  Are  you?  I  don't  know  that  I  am."  He  sat 
down  at  the  table  with  a  weary  look  on  his  face; 
not  the  look  of  a  man  who  is  expecting  high 
promotion. 

"  Are  you  busy  this  afternoon,  Arthur?  "  he  said 
after  a  moment.  "  If  not,  I  wish  you  would  stay 
with  me  for  a  while,  as  you  can't  come  to-night. 
I  am  a  little  out  of  sorts,  I  think;  and  I  want  to 
see  as  much  of  you  as  possible  before  leaving." 

"  Yes,  I  can  stay  a  bit.     I  am  due  at  six." 

"  One  of  your  meetings?  " 

Arthur  nodded;  and  Montanelli  changed  the 
subject  hastily. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  yourself,"  he 
said.  "  You  will  need  another  confessor  in  my 
absence." 

"  When  you  come  back  I  may  go  on  confessing 
to  you,  may  I  not?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  how  can  you  ask?  Of  course  I 
am  speaking  only  of  the  three  or  four  months  that 


THE  GADFLY.  29 

I  shall  be  away.  Will  you  go  to  one  of  the 
Fathers  of  Santa  Caterina?  " 

"  Very  well." 

They  talked  of  other  matters  for  a  little  while; 
then  Arthur  rose. 

"  I  must  go,  Padre;  the  students  will  be  wait- 
ing for  me." 

The  haggard  look  came  back  to  Montanelli's 
face. 

"  Already?  You  had  almost  charmed  away 
my  black  mood.  Well,  good-bye." 

"  Good-bye.    I  will  be  sure  to  come  to-morrow." 

"  Try  to  come  early,  so  that  I  may  have  time 
to  see  you  alone.  Father  Cardi  will  be  here. 
Arthur,  my  dear  boy,  be  careful  while  I  am  gone; 
don't  be  led  into  doing  anything  rash,  at  least  be- 
fore I  come  back.  You  cannot  think  how  anxious 
I  feel  about  leaving  you." 

"  There  is  no  need,  Padre;  everything  is  quite 
quiet.  It  will  be  a  long  time  yet." 

"  Good-bye,"  Montanelli  said  abruptly,  and  sat 
down  to  his  writing. 

The  first  person  upon  whom  Arthur's  eyes  fell, 
as  he  entered  the  room  where  the  students'  little 
gatherings  were  held,  was  his  old  playmate,  Dr. 
Warren's  daughter.  She  was  sitting  in  a  corner 
by  the  window,  listening  with  an  absorbed  and 
earnest  face  to  what  one  of  the  "  initiators,"  a  tall 
young  Lombard  in  a  threadbare  coat,  was  say- 
ing to  her.  During  the  last  few  months  she  had 
changed  and  developed  greatly,  and  now  looked  a 
grown-up  young  woman,  though  the  dense  black 
plaits  still  hung  down  her  back  in  school-girl 
fashion.  She  was  dressed  all  in  black,  and  had 
thrown  a  black  scarf  over  her  head,  as  the  room 
was  cold  and  draughty.  At  her  breast  was  a  spray 


30  THE  GADFLY. 

of  cypress,  the  emblem  of  Young  Italy.  The 
initiator  was  passionately  describing  to  her  the 
misery  of  the  Calabrian  peasantry;  and  she  sat 
listening  silently,  her  chin  resting  on  one  hand 
and  her  eyes  on  the  ground.  To  Arthur  she 
seemed  a  melancholy  vision  of  Liberty  mourning 
for  the  lost  Republic.  (Julia  would  have  seen  in 
her  only  an  overgrown  hoyden,  with  a  sallow  com- 
plexion, an  irregular  nose,  and  an  old  stuff  frock 
that  was  too  short  for  her.) 

"You  here,  Jim!"  he  said,  coming  up  to  her 
when  the  initiator  had  been  called  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  "  Jim  "  was  a  childish  corruption  of 
her  curious  baptismal  name:  Jennifer.  Her  Italian 
schoolmates  called  her  "  Gemma." 

She  raised  her  head  with  a  start. 

"Arthur!  Oh,  I  didn't  know  you — belonged 
here!" 

"  And  I  had  no  idea  about  you.  Jim,  since  when 
have  you ?  " 

"You  don't  understand!"  she  interposed 
quickly.  "  I  am  not  a  member.  It  is  only  that 
I  have  done  one  or  two  little  things.  You  see,  I 
met  Bini — you  know  Carlo  Bini?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course."  Bini  was  the  organizer  of  the 
Leghorn  branch;  and  all  Young  Italy  knew  him. 

"  Well,  he  began  talking  to  me  about  these 
things;  and  I  asked  him  to  let  me  go  to  a  students' 
meeting.  The  other  day  he  wrote  to  me  to 
Florence —  Didn't  you  know  I  had  been  to 
Florence  for  the  Christmas  holidays?  " 

"  I  don't  often  hear  from  home  now." 

"Ah,  yes!  Anyhow,  I  went  to  stay  with  the 
Wrights."  (The  Wrights  were  old  schoolfellows 
of  hers  who  had  moved  to  Florence.)  '  Then  Bini 
wrote  and  told  me  to  pass  through  Pisa  to-day  on 


THE  GADFLY. 

my  way  home,  so  that  I  could  come  here. 
they're  going  to  begin." 

The  lecture  was  upon  the  ideal  Republic  and 
the  duty  of  the  young  to  fit  themselves  for  it. 
The  lecturer's  comprehension  of  his  subject  was 
somewhat  vague;  but  Arthur  listened  with  devout 
admiration.  His  mind  at  this  period  was  curi- 
ously uncritical;  when  he  accepted  a  moral  ideal 
he  swallowed  it  whole  without  stopping  to  think 
whether  it  was  quite  digestible.  When  the  lecture 
and  the  long  discussion  which  followed  it  were 
finished  and  the  students  began  to  disperse,  he 
went  up  to  Gemma,  who  was  still  sitting  in  the 
corner  of  the  room. 

"  Let  me  walk  with  you,  Jim.  Where  are  you 
staying?  " 

"  With  Marietta." 

'  Your  father's  old  housekeeper?  " 

'  Yes;  she  lives  a  good  way  from  here." 

They  walked  for  some  time  in  silence.  Then 
Arthur  said  suddenly: 

'  You  are  seventeen,  now,  aren't  you?  " 

"  I  was  seventeen  in  October." 

"  I  always  knew  you  would  not  grow  up  like 
other  girls  and  begin  wanting  to  go  to  balls  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  Jim,  dear,  I  have  so  often 
wondered  whether  you  would  ever  come  to  be 
one  of  us." 

"  So  have  I." 

'You  said  you  had  done  things  for  Bini;  I 
didn't  know  you  even  knew  him." 

"  It  wasn't  for  Bini ;  it  was  for  the  other  one." 

"  Which  other  one?  " 

"  The  one  that  was  talking  to  me  to-night — 
Bolla." 

"  Do  you  know  him  well?  "  Arthur  put  in  with 


32  THE  GADFLY. 

a  little  touch  of  jealousy.  Bolla  was  a  sore  subject 
with  him;  there  had  been  a  rivalry  between  them 
about  some  work  which  the  committee  of  Young 
Italy  had  finally  intrusted  to  Bolla,  declaring 
Arthur  too  young  and  inexperienced. 

"  I  know  him  pretty  well;  and  I  like  him  very 
much.  He  has  been  staying  in  Leghorn." 

"  I  know;  he  went  there  in  November " 

"  Because  of  the  steamers.  Arthur,  don't  you 
think  your  house  would  be  safer  than  ours  for  that 
work?  Nobody  would  suspect  a  rich  shipping 
family  like  yours;  and  you  know  everyone  at  the 
docks " 

"  Hush!  not  so  loud,  dear!  So  it  was  in  your 
house  the  books  from  Marseilles  were  hidden?" 

"  Only  for  one  day.  Oh!  perhaps  I  oughtn't  to 
have  told  you." 

"  Why  not?  You  know  I  belong  to  the  society. 
Gemma,  dear,  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  that 
would  make  me  so  happy  as  for  you  to  join  us — 
you  and  the  Padre." 

"  Your  Padre!     Surely  he : 

"  No;  he  thinks  differently.  But  I  have  some- 
times fancied — that  is — hoped — I  don't  know — 

"  But,  Arthur!  he's  a  priest." 

"What  of  that?  There  are  priests  in  the  so- 
ciety— two  of  them  write  in  the  paper.  And  why 
not?  It  is  the  mission  of  the  priesthood  to  lead 
the  world  to  higher  ideals  and  aims,  and  what  else 
does  the  society  try  to  do?  It  is,  after  all,  more 
a  religious  and  moral  question  than  a  political  one. 
If  people  are  fit  to  be  free  and  responsible  citizens, 
no  one  can  keep  them  enslaved." 

Gemma  knit  her  brows.  "  It  seems  to  me, 
Arthur,"  she  said,  "  that  there's  a  muddle  some- 
where in  your  logic.  A  priest  teaches  religious 


THE  GADFLY.  33 

doctrine.  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with 
getting  rid  of  the  Austrians." 

"  A  priest  is  a  teacher  of  Christianity,  and  the 
greatest  of  all  revolutionists  was  Christ." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  was  talking  about  priests  to 
father  the  other  day,  and  he  said " 

"  Gemma,  your  father  is  a  Protestant." 

After  a  little  pause  she  looked  round  at  him 
frankly. 

"  Look  here,  we  had  better  leave  this  subject 
alone.  You  are  always  intolerant  when  you  talk 
about  Protestants." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  be  intolerant.  But  I  think 
Protestants  are  generally  intolerant  when  they 
talk  about  priests." 

"  I  dare  say.  Anyhow,  we  have  so  often  quar- 
reled over  this  subject  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to 
begin  again.  What  did  you  think  of  the  lecture?  " 

"  I  liked  it  very  much — especially  the  last  part. 
I  was  glad  he  spoke  so  strongly  about  the 
need  of  living  the  Republic,  not  dreaming  of  it. 
It  is  as  Christ  said:  '  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is 
within  you.' ' 

"  It  was  just  that  part  that  I  didn't  like.  He 
talked  so  much  of  the  wonderful  things  we  ought 
to  think  and  feel  and  be,  but  he  never  told  us  prac- 
tically what  we  ought  to  do." 

"  When  the  time  of  crisis  comes  there  will  be 
plenty  for  us  to  do;  but  we  must  be  patient;  these 
great  changes  are  not  made  in  a  day." 

"  The  longer  a  thing  is  to  take  doing,  the  more 
reason  to  begin  at  once.  You  talk  about  being 
fit  for  freedom — did  you  ever  know  anyone  so  fit 
for  it  as  your  mother?  Wasn't  she  the  most  per- 
fectly angelic  woman  you  ever  saw?  And  what  use 
was  all  her  goodness?  She  was  a  slave  till  the  day 


34  THE  GADFLY. 

she  died — bullied  and  worried  and  insulted  by  your 
brother  James  and  his  wife.  It  would  have  been 
much  better  for  her  if  she  had  not  been  so  sweet 
and  patient;  they  would  never  have  treated  her 
so.  That's  just  the  way  with  Italy;  it's  not 
patience  that's  wanted — it's  for  somebody  to  get 
up  and  defend  themselves " 

''  Jim,  dear,  if  anger  and  passion  could  have 
saved  Italy  she  would  have  been  free  long  ago; 
it  is  not  hatred  that  she  needs,  it  is  love." 

As  he  said  the  word  a  sudden  flush  went  up 
to  his  forehead  and  died  out  again.  Gemma 
did  not  see  it;  she  was  looking  straight  before 
her  with  knitted  brows  and  set  mouth. 

"  You  think  I  am  wrong,  Arthur,"  she  said 
after  a  pause;  "  but  I  am  right,  and  you  will  grow 
to  see  it  some  day.  This  is  the  house.  Will  you 
come  in?  " 

"  No;  it's  late.     Good-night,  dear!  " 

He  was  standing  on  the  doorstep,  clasping  her 
hand  in  both  of  his. 

"  For  God  and  the  people — 

Slowly  and  gravely  she  completed  the  unfinished 
motto: 

"  Now  and  forever." 

Then  she  pulled  away  her  hand  and  ran  into 
the  house.  When  the  door  had  closed  behind  her 
he  stooped  and  picked  up  the  spray  of  cypress 
which  had  fallen  from  her  breast. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ARTHUR  went  back  to  his  lodgings  feeling  as 
though  he  had  wings.  He  was  absolutely,  cloud- 
lessly happy.  At  the  meeting  there  had  been 


THE  GADFLY. 


35 


hints  of  preparations  for  armed  insurrection;  and 
now  Gemma  was  a  comrade,  and  he  loved  her. 
They  could  work  together,  possibly  even  die  to- 
gether, for  the  Republic  that  was  to  be.  The 
blossoming  time  of  their  hope  was  come,  and  the 
Padre  would  see  it  and  believe. 

The  next  morning,  however,  he  awoke  in  a 
soberer  mood  and  remembered  that  Gemma  was 
going  to  Leghorn  and  the  Padre  to  Rome.  Janu- 
ary, February,  March — three  long  months  to 
Easter!  And  if  Gemma  should  fall  under  "  Prot- 
estant "  influences  at  home  (in  Arthur's  vocabu- 
lary "  Protestant  "  stood  for  "  Philistine  ")— — 
No,  Gemma  would  never  learn  to  flirt  and  simper 
and  captivate  tourists  and  bald-headed  shipowners, 
like  the  other  English  girls  in  Leghorn;  she  was 
made  of  different  stuff.  But  she  might  be  very 
miserable;  she  was  so  young,  so  friendless,  so 
utterly  alone  among  all  those  wooden  people.  If 
only  mother  had  lived 

In  the  evening  he  went  to  the  seminary,  where 
he  found  Montanelli  entertaining  the  new  Di- 
rector and  looking  both  tired  and  bored.  Instead 
of  lighting  up,  as  usual,  at  the  sight  of  Arthur,  the 
Padre's  face  grew  darker. 

'  This  is  the  student  I  spoke  to  you  about,"  he 
said,  introducing  Arthur  stiffly.  "  I  shall  be  much 
obliged  if  you  will  allow  him  to  continue  using  the 
library." 

Father  Cardi,  a  benevolent-looking  elderly 
priest,  at  once  began  talking  to  Arthur  about  the 
Sapienza,  with  an  ease  and  familiarity  which 
showed  him  to  be  well  acquainted  with  college 
life.  The  conversation  soon  drifted  into  a  discus- 
sion of  university  regulations,  a  burning  question 
of  that  day.  To  Arthur's  great  delight,  the  new 


36  THE  GADFLY. 

Director  spoke  strongly  against  the  custom 
adopted  by  the  university  authorities  of  constantly 
worrying  the  students  by  senseless  and  vexatious 
restrictions. 

"  I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  experience  in  guid- 
ing young  people,"  he  said;  "and  I  make  it  a 
rule  never  to  prohibit  anything  without  a  good 
reason.  There  are  very  few  young  men  who  will 
give  much  trouble  if  proper  consideration  and  re- 
spect for  their  personality  are  shown  to  them. 
But,  of  course,  the  most  docile  horse  will  kick  if 
you  are  always  jerking  at  the  rein." 

Arthur  opened  his  eyes  wide;  he  had  not  ex- 
pected to  hear  the  students'  cause  pleaded  by  the 
new  Director.  Montanelli  took  no  part  in  the  dis- 
cussion; its  subject,  apparently,  did  not  interest 
him.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  so  unutter- 
ably hopeless  and  weary  that  Father  Cardi  broke 
off  suddenly. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  overtired  you,  Canon.  You 
must  forgive  my  talkativeness;  I  am  hot  upon  this 
subject  and  forget  that  others  may  grow  weary 
of  it." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  was  much  interested." 
Montanelli  was  not  given  to  stereotyped  polite- 
ness, and  his  tone  jarred  uncomfortably  upon 
Arthur. 

When  Father  Cardi  went  to  his  own  room 
Montanelli  turned  to  Arthur  with  the  intent  and 
brooding  look  that  his  face  had  worn  all  the 
evening. 

"Arthur,  my  dear  boy,"  he  began  slowly;  "I 
have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  He  must  have  had  bad  news,"  flashed  through 
Arthur's  mind,  as  he  looked  anxiously  at  the  hag- 
gard face.  There  was  a  long  pause. 


THE  GADFLY.  37 

"  How  do  you  like  the  new  Director?  "  Monta- 
nelli  asked  suddenly. 

The  question  was  so  unexpected  that,  for  a  mo- 
ment, Arthur  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply  to  it. 

"  I — I  like  him  very  much,  I  think — at  least- 
no,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  do.  But  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  say,  after  seeing  a  person  once." 

Montanelli  sat  beating  his  hand  gently  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair;  a  habit  with  him  when  anxious 
or  perplexed. 

"  About  this  journey  to  Rome,"  he  began  again; 
"  if  you  think  there  is  any — well — if  you  wish  it, 
Arthur,  I  will  write  and  say  I  cannot  go." 

"  Padre!     But  the  Vatican " 

"  The  Vatican  will  find  someone  else.  I  can 
send  apologies." 

"  But  why?     I  can't  understand." 

Montanelli  drew  one  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"  I  am  anxious  about  you.  Things  keep  com- 
ing into  my  head — and  after  all,  there  is  no  need 
for  me  to  go " 

"  But  the  bishopric " 

"  Oh,  Arthur!  what  shall  it  profit  me  if  I  gain  a 
bishopric  and  lose " 

He  broke  off.  Arthur  had  never  seen  him  like 
this  before,  and  was  greatly  troubled. 

"  I  can't  understand,"  he  said.  "  Padre,  if  you 
could  explain  to  me  more — more  definitely,  what 
it  is  you  think " 

"  I  think  nothing;  I  am  haunted  with  a  horri- 
ble fear.  Tell  me,  is  there  any  special  danger?  " 

"  He  has  heard  something,"  Arthur  thought, 
remembering  the  whispers  of  a  projected  revolt. 
But  the  secret  was  not  his  to  tell;  and  he  merely 
answered:  "  What  special  danger  should  there 
be?" 


38  THE  GADFLY. 

"Don't  question  me — answer  me!"  Monta- 
nelli's voice  was  almost  harsh  in  its  eagerness. 
"  Are  you  in  danger?  I  don't  want  to  know  your 
secrets;  only  tell  me  that!  " 

"  We  are  all  in  God's  hands,  Padre;  anything 
may  always  happen.  But  I  know  of  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  be  here  alive  and  safe  when  you 
come  back." 

"  When  I  come  back Listen,  carino;  I  will 

leave  it  in  your  hands.  You  need  give  me  no 
reason;  only  say  to  me,  '  Stay,'  and  I  will  give  up 
this  journey.  There  will  be  no  injury  to  anyone, 
and  I  shall  feel  you  are  safer  if  I  have  you 
beside  me." 

This  kind  of  morbid  fancifulness  was  so  foreign 
to  Montanelli's  character  that  Arthur  looked  at 
him  with  grave  anxiety. 

"  Padre,  I  am  sure  you  are  not  well.  Of  course 
you  must  go  to  Rome,  and  try  to  have  a  thorough 
rest  and  get  rid  of  your  sleeplessness  and  head- 
aches." 

"  Very  well,"  Montanelli  interrupted,  as  if  tired 
of  the  subject;  "  I  will  start  by  the  early  coach 
to-morrow  morning." 

Arthur  looked  at  him,  wondering. 

"  You  had  something  to  tell  me?  "  he  said. 

"  No,  no;  nothing  more — nothing  of  any  con- 
sequence." There  was  a  startled,  almost  terrified 
look  in  his  face. 

A  few  days  after  Montanelli's  departure  Arthur 
went  to  fetch  a  book  from  the  seminary  library, 
and  met  Father  Cardi  on  the  stairs. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Burton!"  exclaimed  the  Director; 
"  the  very  person  I  wanted.  Please  come  in  and 
help  me  out  of  a  difficulty." 


THE  GADFLY.  39 

,He  opened  the  study  door,  and  Arthur  followed 
him  into  the  room  with  a  foolish,  secret  sense  of 
resentment.  It  seemed  hard  to  see  this  dear 
study,  the  Padre's  own  private  sanctum,  invaded 
by  a  stranger. 

"  I  am  a  terrible  book-worm,"  said  the  Director; 
"  and  my  first  act  when  I  got  here  was  to  examine 
the  library.  It  seems  very  interesting,  but  I  do 
not  understand  the  system  by  which  it  is  cata- 
logued." 

"The  catalogue  is  imperfect;  many  of  the 
best  books  have  been  added  to  the  collection 
lately." 

"  Can  you  spare  half  an  hour  to  explain  the  ar- 
rangement to  me?  " 

They  went  into  the  library,  and  Arthur  care- 
fully explained  the  catalogue.  When  he  rose  to 
take  his  hat,  the  Director  interfered,  laughing. 

"  No,  no!  I  can't  have  you  rushing  off  in  that 
way.  It  is  Saturday,  and  quite  time  for  you  to 
leave  off  work  till  Monday  morning.  Stop  and 
have  supper  with  me,  now  I  have  kept  you  so 
late.  I  am  quite  alone,  and  shall  be  glad  of 
company." 

His  manner  was  so  bright  and  pleasant  that  Ar- 
thur felt  at  ease  with  him  at  once.  After  some 
desultory  conversation,  the  Director  inquired  how 
long  he  had  known  Montanelli. 

"  For  about  seven  years.  He  came  back  from 
China  when  I  was  twelve  years  old." 

"  Ah,  yes!  It  was  there  that  he  gained  his  repu- 
tation as  a  missionary  preacher.  Have  you  been 
his  pupil  ever  since?  " 

"  He  began  teaching  me  a  year  later,  about  the 
time  when  I  first  confessed  to  him.  Since  I  have 
been  at  the  Sapienza  he  has  still  gone  on  helping 


4o  THE  GADFLY. 

me  with  anything  I  wanted  to  study  that  was  not 
in  the  regular  course.  He  has  been  very  kind  to 
me — you  can  hardly  imagine  how  kind." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it ;  he  is  a  man  whom  no  one 
can  fail  to  admire — a  most  noble  and  beautiful 
nature.  I  have  met  priests  who  were  out  in  China 
with  him;  and  they  had  no  words  high  enough  to 
praise  his  energy  and  courage  under  all  hardships, 
and  his  unfailing  devotion.  You  are  fortunate  to 
have  had  in  your  youth  the  help  and  guidance  of 
such  a  man.  I  understood  from  him  that  you  have 
lost  both  parents." 

"  Yes;  my  father  died  when  I  was  a  child,  and 
my  mother  a  year  ago." 

"  Have  you  brothers  and  sisters?  " 

"No;  I  have  step-brothers;  but  they  were  busi- 
ness men  when  I  was  in  the  nursery." 

"  You  must  have  had  a  lonely  childhood;  per- 
haps you  value  Canon  Montanelli's  kindness  the 
more  for  that.  By  the  way,  have  you  chosen  a 
confessor  for  the  time  of  his  absence?  " 

"  I  thought  of  going  to  one  of  the  fathers  of 
Santa  Caterina,  if  they  have  not  too  many 
penitents." 

"  Will  you  confess  to  me?  " 

Arthur  opened  his  eyes  in  wonder. 

"  Reverend  Father,  of  course  I — should  be  glad; 
only 

"  Only  the  Director  of  a  theological  seminary 
does  not  usually  receive  lay  penitents?  That  is 
quite  true.  But  I  know  Canon  Montanelli  takes 
a  great  interest  in  you,  and  I  fancy  he  is  a  little 
anxious  on  your  behalf — just  as  I  should  be  if  I 
were  leaving  a  favourite  pupil — and  would  like  to 
know  you  were  under  the  spiritual  guidance  of  his 
colleague.  And,  to  be  quite  frank  with  you,  my 


THE  GADFLY.  4I 

son,  I  like  you,  and  should  be  glad  to  give  you 
any  help  I  can." 

"  If  you  put  it  that  way,  of  course  I  shall  be 
very  grateful  for  your  guidance." 

"  Then  you  will  come  to  me  next  month? 
That's  right.  And  run  in  to  see  me,  my  lad,  when 
you  have  time  any  evening." 

Shortly  before  Easter  Montanelli's  appoint- 
ment to  the  little  see  of  Brisighella,  in  the  Etrus- 
can Apennines,  was  officially  announced.  He 
wrote  to  Arthur  from  Rome  in  a  cheerful  and 
tranquil  spirit;  evidently  his  depression  was  pass- 
ing over.  "  You  must  come  to  see  me  every  vaca- 
tion," he  wrote;  "  and  I  shall  often  be  coming  to 
Pisa;  so  I  hope  to  see  a  good  deal  of  you,  if  not 
so  much  as  I  should  wish." 

Dr.  Warren  had  invited  Arthur  to  spend  the 
Easter  holidays  with  him  and  his  children,  instead 
of  in  the  dreary,  rat-ridden  old  place  where  Julia 
now  reigned  supreme.  Enclosed  in  the  letter  was 
a  short  note,  scrawled  in  Gemma's  childish,  irregu- 
lar handwriting,  begging  him  to  come  if  possible, 
"  as  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  something." 
Still  more  encouraging  was  the  whispered  com- 
munication passing  around  from  student  to  stu- 
dent in  the  university ;  everyone  was  to  be  prepared 
for  great  things  after  Easter. 

All  this  had  put  Arthur  into  a  state  of  raptu- 
rous anticipation,  in  which  the  wildest  improba- 
bilities hinted  at  among  the  students  seemed  to 
him  natural  and  likely  to  be  realized  within  the 
next  two  months. 

He  arranged  to  go  home  on  Thursday  in  Pas- 
sion week,  and  to  spend  the  first  days  of  the 
vacation  there,  that  the  pleasure  of  visiting  the 


4 2  THE  GADFLY. 

Warrens  and  the  delight  of  seeing  Gemma  might 
not  unfit  him  for  the  solemn  religious  meditation 
demanded  by  the  Church  from  all  her  children  at 
this  season.  He  wrote  to  Gemma,  promising  to 
come  on  Easter  Monday;  and  went  up  to  his  bed- 
room on  Wednesday  night  with  a  soul  at  peace. 

He  knelt  down  before  the  crucifix.  Father 
Cardi  had  promised  to  receive  him  in  the  morn- 
ing; and  for  this,  his  last  confession  before  the 
Easter  communion,  he  must  prepare  himself  by 
long  and  earnest  prayer.  Kneeling  with  clasped 
hands  and  bent  head,  he  looked  back  over  the 
month,  and  reckoned  up  the  miniature  sins  of 
impatience,  carelessness,  hastiness  of  temper, 
which  had  left  their  faint,  small  spots  upon  the 
whiteness  of  his  soul.  Beyond  these  he  could  fincl 
nothing;  in  this  month  he  had  been  too  happy 
to  sin  much.  He  crossed  himself,  and,  rising,  be- 
gan to  undress. 

As  he  unfastened  his  shirt  a  scrap  of  paper 
slipped  from  it  and  fluttered  to  the  floor.  It  was 
Gemma's  letter,  which  he  had  worn  all  day  upon 
his  neck.  He  picked  it  up,  unfolded  it,  and  kissed 
the  dear  scribble;  then  began  folding  the  paper 
up  again,  with  a  dim  consciousness  of  having  done 
something  very  ridiculous,  when  he  noticed  on 
the  back  of  the  sheet  a  postscript  which  he  had 
not  read  before.  "  Be  sure  and  come  as  soon  as 
possible,"  it  ran,  "  for  I  want  you  to  meet  Bolla. 
He  has  been  staying  here,  and  we  have  read  to- 
gether every  day." 

The  hot  colour  went  up  to  Arthur's  forehead  as 
he  read. 

Always  Bolla!  What  was  he  doing  in  Leghorn 
again?  And  why  should  Gemma  want  to  read 
with  him?  Had  he  bewitched  her  with  his  smug- 


THE  GADFLY.  43 

gling?  It  had  been  quite  easy  to  see  at  the  meet- 
ing in  January  that  he  was  in  love  with  her;  that 
was  why  he  had  been  so  earnest  over  his  propa- 
ganda. And  now  he  was  close  to  her — reading 
with  her  every  day. 

Arthur  suddenly  threw  the  letter  aside  and  knelt 
down  again  before  the  crucifix.  And  this  was  the 
soul  that  was  preparing  for  absolution,  for  the 
Easter  sacrament — the  soul  at  peace  with  God  and 
itself  and  all  the  world!  A  soul  capable  of  sordid 
jealousies  and  suspicions;  of  selfish  animosities  and 
ungenerous  hatred — and  against  a  comrade!  He 
covered  his  face  with  both  hands  in  bitter  humilia- 
tion. Only  five  minutes  ago  he  had  been  dream- 
ing of  martyrdom;  and  now  he  had  been  guilty  of 
a  mean  and  petty  thought  like  this! 

When  he  entered  the  seminary  chapel  on  Thurs- 
day morning  he  found  Father  Cardi  alone.  After 
repeating  the  Confiteor,  he  plunged  at  once  into 
the  subject  of  his  last  night's  backsliding. 

"  My  father,  I  accuse  myself  of  the  sins  of  jeal- 
ousy and  anger,  and  of  unworthy  thoughts  against 
one  who  has  done  me  no  wrong." 

Farther  Cardi  knew  quite  well  with  what  kind  of 
penitent  he  had  to  deal.  He  only  said  softly: 
"  You  have  not  told  me  all,  my  son." 

"  Father,  the  man  against  whom  I  have  thought 
an  unchristian  thought  is  one  whom  I  am 
especially  bound  to  love  and  honour." 

"  One  to  whom  you  are  bound  by  ties  of 
blood?  " 

"  By  a  still  closer  tie." 

"  By  what  tie,  my  son?  " 

"  By  that  of  comradeship." 

"  Comradeship  in  what?  " 

"  In  a  great  and  holy  work." 


44  THE  GADFLY. 

A  little  pause. 

"  And  your  anger  against  this — comrade,  your 
jealousy  of  him,  was  called  forth  by  his  success  in 
that  work  being  greater  than  yours?  " 

"  I — yes,  partly.  I  envied  him  his  experience — 
his  usefulness.  And  then — I  thought — I  feared— 
that  he  would  take  from  me  the  heart  of  the  girl 
I— love." 

"  And  this  girl  that  you  love,  is  she  a  daughter 
of  the  Holy  Church?" 

"  No;  she  is  a  Protestant." 

"A  heretic?" 

Arthur  clasped  his  hands  in  great  distress. 
"  Yes,  a  heretic,"  he  repeated.  "  We  were  brought 
up  together;  our  mothers  were  friends — and  I 
— envied  him,  because  I  saw  that  he  loves  her, 
too,  and  because — because — 

"  My  son,"  said  Father  Cardi,  speaking  after  a 
moment's  silence,  slowly  and  gravely,  "  you  have 
still  not  told  me  all;  there  is  more  than  this  upon 
your  soul." 

"  Father,  I—  He  faltered  and  broke  off 

again. 

The  priest  waited  silently. 

"  I  envied  him  because  the  society — the  Young 
Italy— that  I  belong  to " 

"  Yes?  " 

"  Intrusted  him  with  a  work  that  I  had  hoped 
— would  be  given  to  me,  that  I  had  thought  my- 
self— specially  adapted  for." 

"What  work?" 

"  The  taking  in  of  books — political  books — from 
the  steamers  that  bring  them — and  finding  a  hid- 
ing place  for  them — in  the  town " 

"  And  this  work  was  given  by  the  party  to  your 
rival?" 


THE  GADFLY.  45 

"  To  Bolla — and  I  envied  him." 

"  And  he  gave  you  no  cause  for  this  feeling? 
You  do  not  accuse  him  of  having  neglected  the 
mission  intrusted  to  him?  " 

"  No,  father;  he  has  worked  bravely  and  devot- 
edly; he  is  a  true  patriot  and  has  deserved  nothing 
but  love  and  respect  from  me." 

Father  Cardi  pondered. 

"  My  son,  if  there  is  within  you  a  new  light,  a 
dream  of  some  great  work  to  be  accomplished  for 
your  fellow-men,  a  hope  that  shall  lighten  the  bur- 
dens of  the  weary  and  oppressed,  take  heed  how 
you  deal  with  the  most  precious  blessing  of  God. 
All  good  things  are  of  His  giving;  and  of  His  giv- 
ing is  the  new  birth.  If  you  have  found  the  way 
of  sacrifice,  the  way  that  leads  to  peace;  if  you  have 
joined  with  loving  comrades  to  bring  deliverance 
to  them  that  weep  and  mourn  in  secret;  then  see 
to  it  that  your  soul  be  free  from  envy  and  passion 
and  your  heart  as  an  altar  where  the  sacred  fire 
burns  eternally.  Remember  that  this  is  a  high  and 
holy  thing,  and  that  the  heart  which  would  receive 
it  must  be  purified  from  every  selfish  thought. 
This  vocation  is  as  the  vocation  of  a  priest;  it  is 
not  for  the  love  of  a  woman,  nor  for  the  moment 
of  a  fleeting  passion;  it  is  for  God  and  the  people; 
it  is  now  and  forever." 

"  Ah!  "  Arthur  started  and  clasped  his  hands; 
he  had  almost  burst  out  sobbing  at  the  motto. 
"  Father,  you  give  us  the  sanction  of  the  Church! 
Christ  is  on  our  side " 

"  My  son,"  the  priest  answered  solemnly, 
"  Christ  drove  the  moneychangers  out  of  the 
Temple,  for  His  House  shall  be  called  a  House 
of  Prayer,  and  they  had  made  it  a  den  of 
thieves." 


46  THE   GADFLY. 

After  a  long  silence,  Arthur  whispered  tremu- 
lously : 

"  And  Italy  shall  be  His  Temple  when  they  are 
driven  out — 

He  stopped;  and  the  soft  answer  came  back: 

"  '  The  earth  and  the  fulness  thereof  are  mine, 
saith  the  Lord/  " 


CHAPTER    V. 

THAT  afternoon  Arthur  felt  the  need  of  a  long 
walk.  He  intrusted  his  luggage  to  a  fellow-stu- 
dent and  went  to  Leghorn  on  foot. 

The  day  was  damp  and  cloudy,  but  not  cold;  and 
the  low,  level  country  seemed  to  him  fairer  than  he 
had  ever  known  it  to  look  before.  He  had  a  sense 
of  delight  in  the  soft  elasticity  of  the  wet  grass 
under  his  feet  and  in  the  shy,  wondering  eyes  of 
the  wild  spring  flowers  by  the  roadside.  In  a 
thorn-acacia  bush  at  the  edge  of  a  little  strip  of 
wood  a  bird  was  building  a  nest,  and  flew  up  as  he 
passed  with  a  startled  cry  and  a  quick  fluttering  of 
brown  wings. 

He  tried  to  keep  his  mind  fixed  upon  the  de- 
vout meditations  proper  to  the  eve  of  Good  Friday. 
But  thoughts  of  Montanelli  and  Gemma  got  so 
much  in  the  way  of  this  devotional  exercise  that  at 
last  he  gave  up  the  attempt  and  allowed  his  fancy 
to  drift  away  to  the  wonders  and  glories  of  the 
coming  insurrection,  and  to  the  part  in  it  that  he 
had  allotted  to  his  two  idols.  The  Padre  was  to 
be  the  leader,  the  apostle,  the  prophet  before 
whose  sacred  wrath  the  powers  of  darkness  were 
to  flee,  and  at  whose  feet  the  young  defenders  of 
Liberty  were  to  learn  afresh  the  old  doctrines, 


THE  GADFLY.  47 

the  old  truths  in  their  new  and  unimagined 
significance. 

And  Gemma?  Oh,  Gemma  would  fight  at 
the  barricades.  She  was  made  of  the  clay  from 
which  heroines  are  moulded;  she  would  be  the 
perfect  comrade,  the  maiden  undefiled  and  un- 
afraid, of  whom  so  many  poets  have  dreamed.  She 
would  stand  beside  him,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
rejoicing  under  the  winged  death-storm;  and  they 
would  die  together,  perhaps  in  the  moment  of 
victory — without  doubt  there  would  be  a  victory. 
Of  his  love  he  would  tell  her  nothing;  he  would  say 
no  word  that  might  disturb  her  peace  or  spoil  her 
tranquil  sense  of  comradeship.  She  was  to  him  a 
holy  thing,  a  spotless  victim  to  be  laid  upon  the 
altar  as  a  burnt-offering  for  the  deliverance  of  the 
people;  and  who  was  he  that  he  should  enter  into 
the  white  sanctuary  of  a  soul  that  knew  no  other 
love  than  God  and  Italy? 

God  and  Italy Then  came  a  sudden  drop 

from  the  clouds  as  he  entered  the  great,  dreary 
house  in  the  "  Street  of  Palaces,"  and  Julia's  but- 
ler, immaculate,  calm,  and  politely  disapproving  as 
ever,  confronted  him  upon  the  stairs. 

"  Good-evening,  Gibbons;  are  my  brothers  in?  " 

"  Mr.  Thomas  is  in,  sir;  and  Mrs.  Burton.  They 
are  in  the  drawing  room." 

Arthur  went  in  with  a  dull  sense  of  oppression. 
What  a  dismal  house  it  was!  The  flood  of  life 
seemed  to  roll  past  and  leave  it  always  just  above 
high-water  mark.  Nothing  in  it  ever  changed — 
neither  the  people,  nor  the  family  portraits,  nor  the 
heavy  furniture  and  ugly  plate,  nor  the  vulgar 
ostentation  of  riches,  nor  the  lifeless  aspect  of 
everything.  Even  the  flowers  on  the  brass  stands 
looked  like  painted  metal  flowers  that  had  never 


48  THE  GADFLY. 

known  the  stirring  of  young  sap  within  them  in 
the  warm  spring  days.  Julia,  dressed  for  dinner, 
and  waiting  for  visitors  in  the  drawing  room  which 
was  to  her  the  centre  of  existence,  might  have  sat 
for  a  fashion-plate  just  as  she  was,  with  her  wooden 
smile  and  flaxen  ringlets,  and  the  lap-dog  on  her 
knee. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Arthur?  "  she  said  stiffly,  giv- 
ing him  the  tips  of  her  fingers  for  a  moment,  and 
then  transferring  them  to  the  more  congenial  con- 
tact of  the  lap-dog's  silken  coat.  "  I  hope  you 
are  quite  well  and  have  made  satisfactory  progress 
at  college." 

Arthur  murmured  the  first  commonplace  that 
he  could  think  of  at  the  moment,  and  relapsed  into 
uncomfortable  silence.  The  arrival  of  James,  in  his 
most  pompous  mood  and  accompanied  by  a  stiff, 
elderly  shipping-agent,  did  not  improve  matters; 
and  when  Gibbons  announced  that  dinner  was 
served,  Arthur  rose  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  won't  come  to  dinner,  Julia.  If  you'll  excuse 
me  I  will  go  to  my  room." 

"  You're  overdoing  that  fasting,  my  boy,"  said 
Thomas;  "  I  am  sure  you'll  make  yourself  ill." 

"  Oh,  no!     Good-night." 

In  the  corridor  Arthur  met  the  under  house- 
maid and  asked  her  to  knock  at  his  door  at  six  in 
the  morning. 

"  The  signorino  is  going  to  church?  " 

"  Yes.     Good-night,  Teresa." 

He  went  into  his  room.  It  had  belonged  to  his 
mother,  and  the  alcove  opposite  the  window  had 
been  fitted  up  during  her  long  illness  as  an  oratory. 
A  great  crucifix  on  a  black  pedestal  occupied  the 
middle  of  the  altar;  and  before  it  hung  a  little 
Roman  lamp.  This  was  the  room  where  she  had 


THE  GADFLY.  49 

died.  Her  portrait  was  on  the  wall  beside  the 
bed;  and  on  the  table  stood  a  china  bowl  which 
had  been  hers,  filled  with  a  great  bunch  of  her 
favourite  violets.  It  was  just  a  year  since  her 
death;  and  the  Italian  servants  had  not  forgotten 
her. 

He  took  out  of  his  portmanteau  a  framed  pic- 
ture, carefully  wrapped  up.  It  was  a  crayon  por- 
trait of  Montanelli,  which  had  come  from  Rome 
only  a  few  days  before.  He  was  unwrapping  this 
precious  treasure  when  Julia's  page  brought  in  a 
supper-tray  on  which  the  old  Italian  cook,  who  had 
served  Gladys  before  the  harsh,  new  mistress  came, 
had  placed  such  little  delicacies  as  she  considered 
her  dear  signorino  might  permit  himself  to  eat 
without  infringing  the  rules  of  the  Church. 
Arthur  refused  everything  but  a  piece  of  bread; 
and  the  page,  a  nephew  of  Gibbons,  lately  arrived 
from  England,  grinned  significantly  as  he  carried 
out  the  tray.  He  had  already  joined  the  Protes- 
tant camp  in  the  servants'  hall. 

Arthur  went  into  the  alcove  and  knelt  down 
before  the  crucifix,  trying  to  compose  his  mind  to 
the  proper  attitude  for  prayer  and  meditation. 
But  this  he  found  difficult  to  accomplish.  He  had, 
as  Thomas  said,  rather  overdone  the  Lenten  pri- 
vations, and  they  had  gone  to  his  head  like  strong 
wine.  Little  quivers  of  excitement  went  down  his 
back,  and  the  crucifix  swam  in  a  misty  cloud  before 
his  eyes.  It  was  only  after  a  long  litany,  mechani- 
cally repeated,  that  he  succeeded  in  recalling  his 
wandering  imagination  to  the  mystery  of  the 
Atonement.  At  last  sheer  physical  weariness 
conquered  the  feverish  agitation  of  his  nerves,  and 
he  lay  down  to  sleep  in  a  calm  and  peaceful  mood, 
free  from  all  unquiet  or  disturbing  thoughts. 


50  THE  GADFLY. 

He  was  fast  asleep  when  a  sharp,  impatient 
knock  came  at  his  door.  "Ah,  Teresa!"  he 
thought,  turning  over  lazily.  The  knock  was 
repeated,  and  he  awoke  with  a  violent  start. 

"  Signorino!  signorino!  "  cried  a  man's  voice  in 
Italian;  "  get  up  for  the  love  of  God!  " 

Arthur  jumped  out  of  bed. 

"  What  is  the  matter?     Who  is  it?  " 

"  It's  I,  Gian  Battista.  Get  up,  quick,  for  Our 
Lady's  sake!  " 

Arthur  hurriedly  dressed  and  opened  the  door. 
As  he  stared  in  perplexity  at  the  coachman's  pale, 
terrified  face,  the  sound  of  tramping  feet  and 
clanking  metal  came  along  the  corridor,  and  he 
suddenly  realized  the  truth. 

"  For  me?  "  he  asked  coolly. 

"  For  you!  Oh,  signorino,  make  haste!  What 
have  you  to  hide?  See,  I  can  put " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  hide.  Do  my  brothers 
know?  " 

The  first  uniform  appeared  at  the  turn  of  the 
passage. 

"The  signer  has  been  called;  all  the  house  is 
awake.  Alas!  what  a  misfortune — what  a  terrible 
misfortune!  And  on  Good  Friday!  Holy  Saints, 
have  pity!  " 

Gian  Battista  burst  into  tears.  Arthur  moved 
a  few  steps  forward  and  waited  for  the  gendarmes, 
who  came  clattering  along,  followed  by  a  shiver- 
ing crowd  of  servants  in  various  impromptu  cos- 
tumes. As  the  soldiers  surrounded  Arthur,  the 
master  and  mistress  of  the  house  brought  up  the 
rear  of  this  strange  procession;  he  in  dressing 
gown  and  slippers,  she  in  a  long  peignoir,  with  her 
hair  in  curlpapers. 

"  There  is,  sure,  another  flood  toward,  and  these 


THE  GADFLY.  51 

couples  are  coming  to  the  ark!  Here  comes  a 
pair  of  very  strange  beas.ts !  " 

The  quotation  flashed  across  Arthur's  mind  as 
he  looked  at  the  grotesque  figures.  He  checked 
a  laugh  with  a  sense  of  its  jarring  incongruity — this 
was  a  time  for  worthier  thoughts.  "  Ave  Maria, 
Regina  Cceli! "  he  whispered,  and  turned  his  eyes 
away,  that  the  bobbing  of  Julia's  curlpapers  might 
not  again  tempt  him  to  levity. 

"  Kindly  explain  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Burton,  ap- 
proaching the  officer  of  gendarmerie,  "  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this  violent  intrusion  into  a  private 
house?  I  warn  you  that,  unless  you  are  prepared 
to  furnish  me  with  a  satisfactory  explanation,  I 
shall  feel  bound  to  complain  to  the  English 
Ambassador." 

"I  presume,"  replied  the  officer  stiffly,  "  that 
you  will  recognize  this  as  a  sufficient  explanation; 
the  English  Ambassador  certainly  will."  He 
pulled  out  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Arthur 
Burton,  student  of  philosophy,  and,  handing  it  to 
James,  added  coldly:  "  If  you  wish  for  any  further 
explanation,  you  had  better  apply  in  person  to  the 
chief  of  police." 

Julia  snatched  the  paper  from  her  husband, 
glanced  over  it,  and  flew  at  Arthur  like  nothing 
else  in  the  world  but  a  fashionable  lady  in  a 
rage. 

"  So  it's  you  that  have  disgraced  the  family!  " 
she  screamed;  "  setting  all  the  rabble  in  the  town 
gaping  and  staring  as  if  the  thing  were  a  show? 
So  you  have  turned  jail-bird,  now,  with  all  your 
piety!  It's  what  we  might  have  expected  from 
that  Popish  woman's  child 

"  You  must  not  speak  to  a  prisoner  in  a  foreign 
language,  madam,"  the  officer  interrupted;  but 


5 2  THE  GADFLY. 

his  remonstrance  was  hardly  audible  under  the  tor- 
rent of  Julia's  vociferous  English. 

"Just  what  we  might  have  expected!  Fasting 
and  prayer  and  saintly  meditation;  and  this  is  what 
was  underneath  it  all!  I  thought  that  would  be 
the  end  of  it." 

Dr.  Warren  had  once  compared  Julia  to  a  salad 
into  which  the  cook  had  upset  the  vinegar  cruet. 
The  sound  of  her  thin,  hard  voice  set  Arthur's 
teeth  on  edge,  and  the  simile  suddenly  popped  up 
in  his  memory. 

"  There's  no  use  in  this  kind  of  talk,"  he  said. 
"  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  any  unpleasantness; 
everyone  will  understand  that  you  are  all  quite 
innocent.  I  suppose,  gentlemen,  you  want  to 
search  my  things.  I  have  nothing  to  hide." 

While  the  gendarmes  ransacked  the  room,  read- 
ing his  letters,  examining  his  college  papers,  and 
turning  out  drawers  and  boxes,  he  sat  waiting  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed,  a  little  flushed  with  excite- 
ment, but  in  no  way  distressed.  The  search  did 
not  disquiet  him.  He  had  always  burned  letters 
which  could  possibly  compromise  anyone,  and  be- 
yond a  few  manuscript  verses,  half  revolutionary, 
half  mystical,  and  two  or  three  numbers  of  Young 
Italy,  the  gendarmes  found  nothing  to  repay  them 
for  their  trouble.  Julia,  after  a  long  resistance, 
yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  her  brother-in-law  and 
went  back  to  bed,  sweeping  past  Arthur  with 
magnificent  disdain,  James  meekly  following. 

When  they  had  left  the  room,  Thomas,  who  all 
this  while  had  been  tramping  up  and  down,  trying 
to  look  indifferent,  approached  the  officer  and 
asked  permission  to  speak  to  the  prisoner. 
Receiving  a  nod  in  answer,  he  went  up  to  Arthur 
and  muttered  in  a  rather  husky  voice: 


THE  GADFLY.  53 

"  I  say;  this  is  an  infernally  awkward  business. 
I'm  very  sorry  about  it." 

Arthur  looked  up  with  a  face  as  serene  as  a  sum- 
mer morning.  "  You  have  always  been  good  to 
me,"  he  said.  "  There's  nothing  to  be  sorry 
about.  I  shall  be  safe  enough." 

"  Look  here,  Arthur!  "  Thomas  gave  his  mous- 
tache a  hard  pull  and  plunged  head  first  into  the 
awkward  question.  "  Is — all  this  anything  to  do 
with— money?  Because,  if  it  is,  I " 

"With  money!  Why,  no!  What  could  it  have 
to  do " 

"  Then  it's  some  political  tomfoolery?  I 
thought  so.  Well,  don't  you  get  down  in  the 
mouth — and  never  mind  all  the  stuff  Julia  talks. 
It's  only  her  spiteful  tongue;  and  if  you  want 
help, — cash,  or  anything, — let  me  know,  will 
you?" 

Arthur  held  out  his  hand  in  silence,  and  Thomas 
left  the  room  with  a  carefully  made-up  expression 
of  unconcern  that  rendered  his  face  more  stolid 
than  ever. 

The  gendarmes,  meanwhile,  had  finished  their 
search,  and  the  officer  in  charge  requested  Arthur 
to  put  on  his  outdoor  clothes.  He  obeyed  at  once 
and  turned  to  leave  the  room;  then  stopped  with 
sudden  hesitation.  It  seemed  hard  to  take  leave 
of  his  mother's  oratory  in  the  presence  of  these 
officials. 

"  Have  you  any  objection  to  leaving  the  room 
for  a  moment?  "  he  asked.  "  You  see  that  I  can- 
not escape  and  that  there  is  nothing  to  conceal." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  forbidden  to  leave  a 
prisoner  alone." 

"  Very  well,  it  doesn't  matter." 

He  went  into  the  alcove,  and,  kneeling  down, 


54  THE  GADFLY. 

kissed  the  feet  and  pedestal  of  the  crucifix,  whisper- 
ing softly:  "  Lord,  keep  me  faithful  unto  death." 

When  he  rose,  the  officer  was  standing  by  the 
table,  examining  Montanelli's  portrait.  "  Is  this 
a  relative  of  yours?  "  he  asked. 

"  No;  it  is  my  confessor,  the  new  Bishop  of 
Brisighella." 

On  the  staircase  the  Italian  servants  were  wait- 
ing, anxious  and  sorrowful.  They  all  loved  Arthur 
for  his  own  sake  and  his  mother's,  and  crowded 
round  him,  kissing  his  hands  and  dress  with 
passionate  grief.  Gian  Battista  stood  by,  the 
tears  dripping  down  his  gray  moustache.  None 
of  the  Burtons  came  out  to  take  leave  of  him. 
Their  coldness  accentuated  the  tenderness  and 
sympathy  of  the  servants,  and  Arthur  was  near  to 
breaking  down  as  he  pressed  the  hands  held  out 
to  him. 

"  Good-bye,  Gian  Battista.  Kiss  the  little  ones 
for  me.  Good-bye,  Teresa.  Pray  for  me,  all  of 
you ;  and  God  keep  you !  Good-bye,  good-bye !  " 

He  ran  hastily  downstairs  to  the  front  door.  A 
moment  later  only  a  little  group  of  silent  men  and 
sobbing  women  stood  on  the  doorstep  watching 
the  carriage  as  it  drove  away. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

ARTHUR  was  taken  to  the  huge  mediaeval  fortress 
at  the  harbour's  mouth.  He  found  prison  life 
fairly  endurable.  His  cell  was  unpleasantly  damp 
and  dark;  but  he  had  been  brought  up  in  a  palace 
in  the  Via  Borra,  and  neither  close  air,  rats,  nor 
foul  smells  were  novelties  to  him.  The  food,  also, 


THE  GADFLY.  55 

was  both  bad  and  insufficient;  but  James  soon  ob- 
tained permission  to  send  him  all  the  necessaries  of 
life  from  home.  He  was  kept  in  solitary  con- 
finement, and,  though  the  vigilance  of  the  warders 
was  less  strict  than  he  had  expected,  he  failed  to 
obtain  any  explanation  of  the  cause  of  his  arrest. 
Nevertheless,  the  tranquil  frame  of  mind  in  which 
he  had  entered  the  fortress  did  not  change.  Not 
being  allowed  books,  he  spent  his  time  in  prayer 
and  devout  meditation,  and  waited  without  impa- 
tience or  anxiety  for  the  further  course  of  events. 

One  day  a  soldier  unlocked  the  door  of  his  cell 
and  called  to  him:  "  This  way,  please!  "  After  two 
or  three  questions,  to  which  he  got  no  answer  but, 
"  Talking  is  forbidden,"  Arthur  resigned  himself 
to  the  inevitable  and  followed  the  soldier  through 
a  labyrinth  of  courtyards,  corridors,  and  stairs,  all 
more  or  less  musty-smelling,  into  a  large,  light 
room  in  which  three  persons  in  military  uniform 
sat  at  a  long  table  covered  with  green  baize  and  lit- 
tered with  papers,  chatting  in  a  languid,  desultory 
way.  They  put  on  a  stiff,  business  air  as  he  came 
in,  and  the  oldest  of  them,  a  foppish-looking  man 
with  gray  whiskers  and  -a  colonel's  uniform, 
pointed  to  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  table 
and  began  the  preliminary  interrogation. 

Arthur  had  expected  to  be  threatened,  abused, 
and  sworn  at,  and  had  prepared  himself  to 
answer  with  dignity  and  patience;  but  he  was  pleas- 
antly disappointed.  The  colonel  was  stiff,  cold 
and  formal,  but  perfectly  courteous.  The  usual 
questions  as  to  his  name,  age,  nationality,  and 
social  position  were  put  and  answered,  and  the 
replies  written  down  in  monotonous  succession. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  bored  and  impatient, 
when  the  colonel  asked: 


56  THE  GADFLY. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Burton,  what  do  you  know 
about  Young  Italy?  " 

"  I  know  that  it  is  a  society  which  publishes  a 
newspaper  in  Marseilles  and  circulates  it  in  Italy, 
with  the  object  of  inducing  people  to  revolt  and 
drive  the  Austrian  army  out  of  the  country." 

"  You  have  read  this  paper,  I  think?  " 

'  Yes;  I  am  interested  in  the  subject." 

"  When  you  read  it  you  realized  that  you  were 
committing  an  illegal  action?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  copies  which  were 
found  in  your  room?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you." 

"  Mr.  Burton,  you  must  not  say  '  I  cannot  tell ' 
here;  you  are  bound  to  answer  my  questions." 

"  I  will  not,  then,  if  you  object  to  '  cannot.'  ' 

'  You  will  regret  it  if  you  permit  yourself  to 
use  such  expressions,"  remarked  the  colonel.  As 
Arthur  made  no  reply,  he  went  on: 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  evidence  has  come 
into  our  hands  proving  your  connection  with  this 
society  to  be  much  more  intimate  than  is  implied 
by  the  mere  reading  of  forbidden  literature.  It 
will  be  to  your  advantage  to  confess  frankly.  In 
any  case  the  truth  will  be  sure  to  come  out,  and 
you  will  find  it  useless  to  screen  yourself  behind 
evasion  and  denials." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  screen  myself.  What  is  it 
you  wrant  to  know?  " 

"  Firstly,  how  did  you,  a  foreigner,  come  to  be 
implicated  in  matters  of  this  kind?  " 

"  I  thought  about  the  subject  and  read  every- 
thing I  could  get  hold  of,  and  formed  my  own 
conclusions." 

"  Who  persuaded  you  to  join  this  society?  " 


THE  GADFLY.  57 

""  No  one;  I  wished  to  join  it." 

"  You  are  shilly-shallying  with  me,"  said  the 
colonel,  sharply;  his  patience  was  evidently  begin- 
ning to  give  out.  "  No  one  can  join  a  society  by 
himself.  To  whom  did  you  communicate  your  wish 
to  join  it?" 

Silence. 

"  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  answer  me?  " 

"  Not  when  you  ask  questions  of  that  kind." 

Arthur  spoke  sullenly;  a  curious,  nervous  irrita- 
bility was  taking  possession  of  him.  He  knew  by 
this  time  that  many  arrests  had  been  made  in  both 
Leghorn  and  Pisa;  and,  though  still  ignorant  of 
the  extent  of  the  calamity,  he  had  already  heard 
enough  to  put  him  into  a  fever  of  anxiety  for  the 
safety  of  Gemma  and  his  other  friends.  The 
studied  politeness  of  the  officers,  the  dull  game  of 
fencing  and  parrying,  of  insidious  questions  and 
evasive  answers,  worried  and  annoyed  him,  and  the 
clumsy  tramping  backward  and  forward  of  the 
sentinel  outside  the  door  jarred  detestably  upon 
his  ear. 

"  Oh,  by  the  bye,  when  did  you  last  meet  Gio- 
vanni Bolla?  "  asked  the  colonel,  after  a  little  more 
bandying  of  words.  "  Just  before  you  left  Pisa, 
was  it?" 

"  I  know  no  one  of  that  name." 

"  What!  Giovanni  Bolla?  Surely  you  know  him 
— a  tall  young  fellow,  closely  shaven.  Why,  he 
is  one  of  your  fellow-students." 

"  There  are  many  students  in  the  university 
whom  I  don't  know." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  know  Bolla,  surely!  Look, 
this  is  his  handwriting.  You  see,  he  knows  you 
well  enough." 

The    colonel    carelessly    handed    him    a    paper 


58  THE  GADFLY. 

headed:  "  Protocol,"  and  signed:  "  Giovanni 
Bolla."  Glancing  down  it  Arthur  came  upon  his 
own  name.  He  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  Am  1  to 
read  it?" 

"  Yes,  you  may  as  well;  it  concerns  you." 

He  began  to  read,  while  the  officers  sat  silently 
watching  his  face.  The  document  appeared  to 
consist  of  depositions  in  answer  to  a  long  string  of 
questions.  Evidently  Bolla,  too,  must  have  been 
arrested.  The  first  depositions  were  of  the  usual 
stereotyped  character;  then  followed  a  short  ac- 
count of  Bella's  connection  with  the  society,  of  the 
dissemination  of  prohibited  literature  in  Leghorn, 
and  of  the  students'  meetings.  Next  came 
"  Among  those  who  joined  us  was  a  young  Eng- 
lishman, Arthur  Burton,  who  belongs  to  one  of 
the  rich  shipowning  families." 

The  blood  rushed  into  Arthur's  face.  Bolla  had 
betrayed  him!  Bolla,  who  had  taken  upon  himself 
the  solemn  duties  of  an  initiator — Bolla,  who  had 
converted  Gemma — who  was  in  love  with  her! 
He  laid  down  the  paper  and  stared  at  the  floor. 

"  I  hope  that  little  document  has  refreshed 
your  memory?  "  hinted  the  colonel  politely. 

Arthur  shook  his  head.  "  I  know  no  one  of  that 
name,"  he  repeated  in  a  dull,  hard  voice.  "  There 
must  be  some  mistake." 

"  Mistake?  Oh,  nonsense!  Come,  Mr.  Bur- 
ton, chivalry  and  quixotism  are  very  fine  things  in 
their  way;  but  there's  no  use  in  overdoing  them. 
It's  an  error  all  you  young  people  fall  into  at  first. 
Come,  think!  What  good  is  it  for  you  to  compro- 
mise yourself  and  spoil  your  prospects  in  life  over 
a  simple  formality  about  a  man  that  has  betrayed 
you?  You  see  yourself,  he  wasn't  so  particular 
as  to  what  he  said  about  you." 


THE  GADFLY.  59 

A  faint  shade  of  something  like  mockery  had 
crept  into  the  colonel's  voice.  Arthur  looked 
up  with  a  start;  a  sudden  light  flashed  upon  his 
mind. 

"  It's  a  lie!  "  he  cried  out.  "  It's  a  forgery!  I 

can  see  it  in  your  face,  you  cowardly You've 

got  some  prisoner  there  you  want  to  compromise, 
or  a  trap  you  want  to  drag  me  into.  You  are  a  for- 
ger, and  a  liar,  and  a  scoundrel " 

"  Silence!  "  shouted  the  colonel,  starting  up  in  a 
rage;  his  two  colleagues  were  already  on  their 
feet.  "  Captain  Tommasi,"  he  went  on,  turning  to 
one  of  them,  "  ring  for  the  guard,  if  you  please, 
and  have  this  young  gentleman  put  in  the  punish- 
ment cell  for  a  few  days.  He  wants  a  lesson,  I  see, 
to  bring  him  to  reason." 

The  punishment  cell  was  a  dark,  damp,  filthy 
hole  under  ground.  Instead  of  bringing  Arthur 
"  to  reason,"  it  thoroughly  exasperated  him.  His 
luxurious  home  had  rendered  him  daintily  fastidi- 
ous about  personal  cleanliness,  and  the  first  effect 
of  the  slimy,  vermin-covered  walls,  the  floor 
heaped  with  accumulations  of  filth  and  garbage, 
the  fearful  stench  of  fungi  and  sewage  and  rotting 
wood,  was  strong  enough  to  have  satisfied  the 
offended  officer.  When  he  was  pushed  in  and  the 
door  locked  behind  him  he  took  three  cautious 
steps  forward  with  outstretched  hands,  shuddering 
with  disgust  as  his  fingers  came  into  contact  with 
the  slippery  wall,  and  groped  in  the  dense  black- 
ness for  some  spot  less  filthy  than  the  rest  in  which 
to  sit  down. 

The  long  day  passed  in  unbroken  blackness  and 
silence,  and  the  night  brought  no  change.  In  the 
utter  void  and  absence  of  all  external  impressions, 
he  gradually  lost*  the  consciousness  of  time;  and 


60  THE  GADFLY. 

when,  on  the  following  morning,  a  key  was  turned 
in  the  door  lock,  and  the  frightened  rats  scurried 
past  him  squeaking,  he  started  up  in  a  sudden 
panic,  his  heart  throbbing  furiously  and  a  roar- 
ing noise  in  his  ears,  as  though  he  had  been  shut 
away  from  light  and  sound  for  months  instead  of 
hours. 

The  door  opened,  letting  in  a  feeble  lantern 
gleam — a  flood  of  blinding  light,  it  seemed  to  him 
— and  the  head  warder  entered,  carrying  a  piece  of 
bread  and  a  mug  of  water.  Arthur  made  a  step 
forward;  he  was  quite  convinced  that  the  man 
had  come  to  let  him  out.  Before  he  had  time  to 
speak,  the  warder  put  the  bread  and  mug  into  his 
hands,  turned  round  and  went  away  without  a 
word,  locking  the  door  again. 

Arthur  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  ground.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  savagely  angry. 
But  as  the  hours  went  by,  the  consciousness  of  time 
and  place  gradually  slipped  further  and  further 
away.  The  blackness  seemed  an  illimitable  thing, 
with  no  beginning  and  no  end,  and  life  had,  as  it 
were,  stopped  for  him.  On  the  evening  of  the 
third  clay,  when  the  door  was  opened  and  the  head 
warder  appeared  on  the  threshold  with  a  soldier, 
he  looked  up,  dazed  and  bewildered,  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  unaccustomed  light,  and  vaguely 
wondering  how  many  hours  or  weeks  he  had  been 
in  this  grave. 

"  This  way,  please,"  said  the  cool  business  voice 
of  the  warder.  Arthur  rose  and  moved  forward 
mechanically,  with  a  strange  unsteadiness,  swaying 
and  stumbling  like  a  drunkard.  He  resented  the 
warder's  attempt  to  help  him  up  the  steep,  narrow 
steps  leading  to  the  courtyard;  but  as  he  reached 
the  highest  step  a  sudden  giddiness  came  over  him, 


THE  GADFLY.  61 

so  that  he  staggered  and  would  have  fallen  back- 
wards had  the  warder  not  caught  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  There,  he'll  be  all  right  now,"  said  a  cheerful 
voice;  "  they  most  of  them  go  off  this  way  coming 
out  into  the  air." 

Arthur  struggled  desperately  for  breath  as  an- 
other handful  of  water  was  dashed  into  his  face. 
The  blackness  seemed  to  fall  away  from  him  in 
pieces  with  a  rushing  noise;  then  he  woke  sud- 
denly into  full  consciousness,  and,  pushing  aside 
the  warder's  arm,  walked  along  the  corridor  and 
up  the  stairs  almost  steadily.  They  stopped  for  a 
moment  in  front  of  a  door;  then  it  opened,  and  be- 
fore he  realized  where  they  were  taking  him 
he  was  in  the  brightly  lighted  interrogation 
room,  staring  in  confused  wonder  at  the  table  and 
the  papers  and  the  officers  sitting  in  their  accus- 
tomed places. 

"Ah,  it's  Mr.  Burton!"  said  the  colonel.  "I 
hope  we  shall  be  able  to  talk  more  comfortably 
now.  Well,  and  how  do  you  like  the  dark  cell? 
Not  quite  so  luxurious  as  your  brother's  drawing 
room,  is  it?  eh?  " 

Arthur  raised  his  eyes  to  the  colonel's  smiling 
face.  He  was  seized  by  a  frantic  desire  to  spring 
at  the  throat  of  this  gray-whiskered  fop  and  tear  it 
with  his  teeth.  Probably  something  of  this  kind 
was  visible  in  his  face,  for  the  colonel  added  imme- 
diately, in  a  quite  different  tone: 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Burton,  and  drink  some  water; 
you  are  excited." 

Arthur  pushed  aside  the  glass  of  water  held  out 
to  him;  and,  leaning  his  arms  on  the  table,  rested 
his  forehead  on  one  hand  and  tried  to  collect  his 


62  THE  GADFLY. 

thoughts.  The  colonel  sat  watching  him  keenly, 
noting  with  experienced  eyes  the  unsteady  hands 
and  lips,  the  hair  dripping  with  water,  the  dim 
gaze  that  told  of  physical  prostration  and  dis- 
ordered nerves. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  said  after  a  few  minutes; 
"  we  will  start  at  the  point  where  we  left  off;  and 
as  there  has  been  a  certain  amount  of  unpleasant- 
ness between  us,  I  may  as  well  begin  by  saying  that 
I,  for  my  part,  have  no  desire  to  be  anything  but 
indulgent  with  you.  If  you  will  behave  properly 
and  reasonably,  I  assure  you  that  we  shall  not 
treat  you  with  any  unnecessary  harshness." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

Arthur  spoke  in  a  hard,  sullen  voice,  quite  differ- 
ent from  his  natural  tone. 

"  I  only  want  you  to  tell  us  frankly,  in  a  straight- 
forward and  honourable  manner,  what  you  know 
of  this  society  and  its  adherents.  First  of  all,  how 
long  have  you  known  Bolla?  " 

"  I  never  met  him  in  my  life.  I  know  nothing 
whatever  about  him." 

"  Really?  Well,  we  will  return  to  that  subject 
presently.  I  think  you  know  a  young  man  named 
Carlo  Bini?" 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  person." 

"  That  is  very  extraordinary.  What  about 
Francesco  Neri?  " 

"  T  never  heard  the  name." 

"  But  here  is  a  letter  in  your  handwriting,  ad- 
dressed to  him.  Look!" 

Arthur  glanced  carelessly  at  the  letter  and  laid  it 
aside. 

"  Do  you  recognize  that  letter?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  deny  that  it  is  in  your  writing?  " 


THE  GADFLY.  63 

"  I  deny  nothing.     I  have  no  recollection  of  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  remember  this  one?  " 

A  second  letter  was  handed  to  him,  and  he  saw 
that  it  was  one  which  he  had  written  in  the  autumn 
to  a  fellow-student. 

"  No." 

"  Nor  the  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed?  " 

"  Nor  the  person." 

"  Your  memory  is  singularly  short." 

"  It  is  a  defect  from  which  I  have  always 
suffered." 

"  Indeed!  And  I  heard  the  other  day  from  a 
university  professor  that  you  are  considered  by  no 
means  deficient;  rather  clever  in  fact." 

'  You  probably  judge  of  cleverness  by  the  police- 
spy  standard;  university  professors  use  words  in  a 
different  sense." 

The  note  of  rising  irritation  was  plainly  audible 
in  Arthur's  voice.  He  was  physically  exhausted 
with  hunger,  foul  air,  and  want  of  sleep;  every  bone 
in  his  body  seemed  to  ache  separately;  and  the 
colonel's  voice  grated  on  his  exasperated  nerves, 
setting  his  teeth  on  edge  like  the  squeak  of  a  slate 
pencil. 

11  Mr.  Burton,"  said  the  colonel,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair  and  speaking  gravely,  "  you  are  again 
forgetting  yourself;  and  I  warn  you  once  more 
that  this  kind  of  talk  will  do  you  no  good.  Surely 
you  have  had  enough  of  the  dark  cell  not  to  want 
any  more  just  for  the  present.  I  tell  you  plainly 
that  I  shall  use  strong  measures  with  you  if  you 
persist  in  repulsing  gentle  ones.  Mind,  I  have 
proof — positive  proof — that  some  of  these  young 
men  have  been  engaged  in  smuggling  prohibited 
literature  into  this  port;  and  that  you  have  been 
in  communication  with  them.  Now,  are  you  going 


64  THE  GADFLY. 

to  tell  me,  without  compulsion,  what  you  know 
about  this  affair?  " 

Arthur  bent  his  head  lower.  A  blind,  senseless, 
wild-beast  fury  was  beginning  to  stir  within  him 
like  a  live  thing.  The  possibility  of  losing  com- 
mand over  himself  was  more  appalling  to  him  than 
any  threats.  For  the  first  time  he  began  to  realize 
what  latent  potentialities  may  lie  hidden  beneath 
the  culture  of  any  gentleman  and  the  piety  of  any 
Christian;  and  the  terror  of  himself  was  strong 
upon  him. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  your  answer,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  I  have  no  answer  to  give." 

'  You  positively  refuse  to  answer?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing  at  all." 

"  Then  I  must  simply  order  you  back  into  the 
punishment  cell,  and  keep  you  there  till  you  change 
your  mind.  If  there  is  much  more  trouble  with 
you,  I  shall  put  you  in  irons." 

Arthur  looked  up,  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 
'  You  will  do  as  you  please,"  he  said  slowly;  "  and 
whether  the  English  Ambassador  will  stand  your 
playing  tricks  of  that  kind  with  a  British  subject 
who  has  not  been  convicted  of  any  crime  is  for  him 
to  decide." 

At  last  Arthur  was  conducted  back  to  his  own 
cell,  where  he  flung  himself  down  upon  the  bed 
and  slept  till  the  next  morning.  He  was  not  put 
in  irons,  and  saw  no  more  of  the  dreaded  dark  cell; 
but  the  feud  between  him  and  the  colonel  grew 
more  inveterate  with  every  interrogation.  It  was 
quite  useless  for  Arthur  to  pray  in  his  cell  for  grace 
to  conquer  his  evil  passions,  or  to  meditate  half  the 
night  long  upon  the  patience  and  meekness  of 
Christ.  No  sooner  was  he  brought  again  into  the 
long,  bare  room  with  its  baize-covered  table,  and 


THE  GADFLY.  65 

confronted  with  the  colonel's  waxed  moustache, 
than  the  unchristian  spirit  would  take  possession  of 
him  once  more,  suggesting  bitter  repartees  and 
contemptuous  answers.  Before  he  had  been  a 
month  in  the  prison  the  mutual  irritation  had 
reached  such  a  height  that  he  and  the  colonel 
could  not  see  each  other's  faces  without  losing 
their  temper. 

The  continual  strain  of  this  petty  warfare  was 
beginning  to  tell  heavily  upon  his  nerves.  Know- 
ing how  closely  he  was  watched,  and  remembering 
certain  dreadful  rumours  which  he  had  heard  of 
prisoners  secretly  drugged  with  belladonna  that 
notes  might  be  taken  of  their  ravings,  he  gradually 
became  afraid  to  sleep  or  eat;  and  if  a  mouse  ran 
past  him  in  the  night,  would  start  up  drenched 
with  cold  sweat  and  quivering  with  terror,  fancy- 
ing that  someone  was  hiding  in  the  room  to  listen 
if  he  talked  in  his  sleep.  The  gendarmes  were  evi- 
dently trying  to  entrap  him  into  making  some 
admission  which  might  compromise  Bolla;  and  so 
great  was  his  fear  of  slipping,  by  any  inadvertency, 
into  a  pitfall,  that  he  was  really  in  danger  of  doing 
so  through  sheer  nervousness.  Bolla's  name  rang 
in  his  ears  night  and  day,  interfering  even  with  his 
devotions,  and  forcing  its  way  in  among  the  beads 
of  the  rosary  instead  of  the  name  of  Mary.  But 
the  worst  thing  of  all  was  that  his  religion,  like  the 
outer  world,  seemed  to  be  slipping  away  from  him 
as  the  days  went  by.  To  this  last  foothold  he  clung 
with  feverish  tenacity,  spending  several  hours  of 
each  day  in  prayer  and  meditation;  but  his 
thoughts  wandered  more  and  more  often  to  Bolla, 
and  the  prayers  were  growing  terribly  mechanical. 

His  greatest  comfort  was  the  head  warder  of  the 
prison.  This  was  a  little  old  man,  fat  and  bald, 


66  THE  GADFLY. 

who  at  first  had  tried  his  hardest  to  wear  a  severe 
expression.  Gradually  the  good  nature  which 
peeped  out  of  every  dimple  in  his  chubby  face  con- 
quered his  official  scruples,  and  he  began  carrying 
messages  for  the  prisoners  from  cell  to  cell. 

One  afternoon  in  the  middle  of  May  this 
warder  came  into  the  cell  with  a  face  so  scowl- 
ing and  gloomy  that  Arthur  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment. 

"  Why,  Enrico!  "  he  exclaimed;  "  what  on  earth 
is  wrong  with  you  to-day?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Enrico  snappishly;  and,  going 
up  to  the  pallet,  he  began  pulling  off  the  rug, 
which  was  Arthur's  property. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  my  things?  Am  I  to 
be  moved  into  another  cell?  " 

"  No;  you're  to  be  let  out." 

"Let  out?  What — to-day?  For  altogether? 
Enrico!  " 

In  his  excitement  Arthur  had  caught  hold  of  the 
old  man's  arm.  It  was  angrily  wrenched  away. 

"  Enrico!  What  has  come  to  you?  Why  don't 
you  answer?  Are  we  all  going  to  be  let  out?  " 

A  contemptuous  grunt  was  the  only  reply. 

"  Look  here!  "  Arthur  again  took  hold  of  the 
warder's  arm,  laughing.  "  It  is  no  use  for  you  to 
be  cross  to  me,  because  I'm  not  going  to  get 
offended.  I  want  to  know  about  the  others." 

"  Which  others? "  growled  Enrico,  suddenly 
laying  down  the  shirt  he  was  folding.  "  Not  Bolla, 
I  suppose?  " 

"  Bolla  and  all  the  rest,  of  course.  Enrico,  what 
is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

"  Well,  he's  not  likely  to  be  let  out  in  a  hurry, 
poor  lad,  when  a  comrade  has  betrayed  him. 
Ugh!  '''  Enrico  took  up  the  shirt  again  in  disgust. 


THE  GADFLY.  67 

"  Betrayed  him?  A  comrade?  Oh,  how  dread- 
ful!" Arthur's  eyes  dilated  with  horror.  Enrico 
turned  quickly  round. 

"  Why,  wasn't  it  you?  " 

"I?    Are  you  off  your  head,  man?    I?  " 

"  Well,  they  told  him  so  yesterday  at  interroga- 
tion, anyhow.  I'm  very  glad  if  it  wasn't  you,  for  I 
always  thought  you  were  rather  a  decent  young 
fellow.  This  way!"  Enrico  stepped  out  into  the 
corridor  and  Arthur  followed  him,  a  light  break- 
ing in  upon  the  confusion  of  his  mind. 

"  They  told  Bolla  I'd  betrayed  him?  Of  course 
they  did!  Why,  man,  they  told  me  he  had  be- 
trayed me.  Surely  Bolla  isn't  fool  enough  to 
believe  that  sort  of  stuff?  " 

"  Then  it  really  isn't  true?  "  Enrico  stopped  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  looked  searchingly  at 
Arthur,  who  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Of  course  it's  a  lie." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  my  lad,  and  I'll  tell 
him  you  said  so.  But  you  see  what  they  told  him 
was  that  you  had  denounced  him  out  of — well,  out 
of  jealousy,  because  of  your  both  being  sweet  on 
the  same  girl." 

"  It's  a  lie!  "  Arthur  repeated  the  words  in  a 
quick,  breathless  whisper.  A  sudden,  paralyzing 
fear  had  come  over  him.  "  The  same  girl — jeal- 
ousy! "  How  could  they  know — how  could  they 
know? 

"  Wait  a  minute,  my  lad."  Enrico  stopped  in 
the  corridor  leading  to  the  interrogation  room, 
and  spoke  softly.  "  I  believe  you;  but  just  tell  me 
one  thing.  I  know  you're  a  Catholic;  did  you 
ever  say  anything  in  the  confessional " 

"  It's  a  lie!  "  This  time  Arthur's  voice  had  risen 
to  a  stifled  cry. 


68  THE  GADFLY. 

Enrico  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  moved  on 
again.  "  You  know  best,  of  course ;  but  you 
wouldn't  be  the  only  young  fool  that's  been  taken 
in  that  way.  There's  a  tremendous  ado  just  now 
about  a  priest  in  Pisa  that  some  of  your  friends 
have  found  out.  They've  printed  a  leaflet  saying 
he's  a  spy." 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  interrogation  room, 
and,  seeing  that  Arthur  stood  motionless,  staring 
blankly  before  him,  pushed  him  gently  across  the 
threshold. 

"Good-afternoon,  Mr.  Burton,"  said  the  colonel, 
smiling  and  showing  his  teeth  amiably.  "  I  have 
great  pleasure  in  congratulating  you.  An  order 
for  your  release  has  arrived  from  Florence.  Will 
you  kindly  sign  this  paper?  " 

Arthur  went  up  to  him.  "  I  want  to  know,"  he 
said  in  a  dull  voice,  "  who  it  was  that  betrayed 
me." 

The  colonel  raised  his  eyebrows  with  a  smile. 

"  Can't  you  guess?     Think  a  minute." 

Arthur  shook  his  head.  The  colonel  put  out 
both  hands  with  a  gesture  of  polite  surprise. 

"  Can't  guess?  Really?  Why,  you  yourself, 
Mr.  Burton.  Who  else  could  know  your  private 
love  affairs?  " 

Arthur  turned  away  in  silence.  On  the  wall 
hung  a  large  wooden  crucifix;  and  his  eyes  wan- 
dered slowly  to  its  face;  but  with  no  appeal  in 
them,  only  a  dim  wonder  at  this  supine  and  patient 
God  that  had  no  thunderbolt  for  a  priest  who  be- 
trayed the  confessional. 

"  Will  you  kindly  sign  this  receipt  for  your 
papers?"  said  the  colonel  blandly;  "and  then  I 
need  not  keep  you  any  longer.  I  am  sure  you 
must  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  home;  and  my  time  is 


THE  GADFLY.  69 

very  much  taken  up  just  now  with  the  affairs  of 
that  foolish  young  man,  Bolla,  who  tried  your 
Christian  forbearance  so  hard.  I  am  afraid  he 
will  get  a  rather  heavy  sentence.  Good-after- 
noon! " 

Arthur  signed  the  receipt,  took  his  papers,  and 
went  out  in  dead  silence.  He  followed  Enrico  to 
the  massive  gate;  and,  without  a  word  of  farewell, 
descended  to  the  water's  edge,  where  a  ferryman 
was  waiting  to  take  him  across  the  moat.  As  he 
mounted  the  stone  steps  leading  to  the  street,  a 
girl  in  a  cotton  dress  and  straw  hat  ran  up  to  him 
with  outstretched  hands. 

"  Arthur!     Oh,  I'm  so  glad— I'm  so  glad!  " 

He  drew  his  hands  away,  shivering. 

"Jim!"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  voice  that  did  not 
seem  to  belong  to  him.  "Jim!" 

"  I've  been  wajting  here  for  half  an  hour.  They 
said  you  would  come  out  at  four.  Arthur,  why  do 
you  look  at  me  like  that?  Something  has  hap- 
pened! Arthur,  what  has  come  to  you?  Stop!" 

He  had  turned  away,  and  was  walking  slowly 
down  the  street,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  her  pres- 
ence. Thoroughly  frightened  at  his  manner,  she 
ran  after  hirn  and  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Arthur!  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  up  with  bewildered  eyes. 
She  slipped  her  arm  through  his,  and  they  walked 
on  again  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  Listen,  dear,"  she  began  softly;  "  you  mustn't 
get  so  upset  over  this  wretched  business.  I  know 
it's  dreadfully  hard  on  you,  but  everybody  under- 
stands." 

"  What  business?  "  he  asked  in  the  same  dull 
voice. 
»•  "  I  mean,  about  Bolla's  letter." 


70  THE  GADFLY. 

Arthur's  face  contracted  painfully  at  the  name. 

"  1  thought  you  wouldn't  have  heard  of  it," 
Gemma  went  on;  "  but  I  suppose  they've  told 
you.  Bolla  must  be  perfectly  mad  to  have  im- 
agined such  a  thing." 

"  Such  a  thing ?  " 

"  You  don't  know  about  it,  then?  He  has 
written  a  horrible  letter,  saying  that  you  have  told 
about  the  steamers,  and  got  him  arrested.  It's 
perfectly  absurd,  of  course;  everyone  that  knows 
you  sees  that;  it's  only  the  people  who  don't  know 
you  that  have  been  upset  by  it.  Really,  that's  what 
I  came  here  for — to  tell  you  that  no  one  in  our 
group  believes  a  word  of  it." 

"Gemma!    But  it's — it's  true!" 

She  shrank  slowly  away  from  him,  and  stood 
quite  still,  her  eyes  wide  and  dark  with  horror,  her 
face  as  white  as  the  kerchief  at  her  neck.  A  great 
icy  wave  of  silence  seemed  to  have  swept  round 
them  both,  shutting  them  out,  in  a  world  apart, 
from  the  life  and  movement  of  the  street. 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered  at  last;  "  the  steamers — 
I  spoke  of  that;  and  I  said  his  name — oh,  my  God! 
my  God!  What  shall  I  do?  " 

He  came  to  himself  suddenly,  realizing  her  pres- 
ence and  the  mortal  terror  in  her  face.  Yes,  of 
course,  she  must  think 

"  Gemma,  you  don't  understand!  "  he  burst  out, 
moving  nearer;  but  she  recoiled  with  a  sharp  cry: 

"  Don't  touch  me!  " 

Arthur  seized  her  right  hand  with  sudden 
violence. 

"  Listen,  for  God's  sake!  It  was  not  my  fault; 
I " 

"  Let  go;  let  my  hand  go!    Let  go!  " 

The  next  instant  she  wrenched  her  ringers  away 


THE  GADFLY.  71 

from  his,  and  struck  him  across  the  cheek  with  her 
open  hand. 

A  kind  of  mist  came  over  his  eyes.  For  a  little 
while  he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  Gemma's 
white  and  desperate  face,  and  the  right  hand  which 
she  had  fiercely  rubbed  on  the  skirt  of  her  cotton 
dress.  Then  the  daylight  crept  back  again,  and  he 
looked  round  and  saw  that  he  was  alone. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IT  had  long  been  dark  when  Arthur  rang  at  the 
front  door  of  the  great  house  in  the  Via  Borra.  He 
remembered  that  he  had  been  wandering  about 
the  streets;  but  where,  or  why,  or  for  how  long,  he 
had  no  idea.  Julia's  page  opened  the  door,  yawn- 
ing, and  grinned  significantly  at  the  haggard, 
stony  face.  It  seemed  to  him  a  prodigious  joke  to 
have  the  young  master  come  home  from  jail  like 
a  "  drunk  and  disorderly  "  beggar.  Arthur  went 
upstairs.  On  the  first  floor  he  met  Gibbons  com- 
ing down  with  an  air  of  lofty  and  solemn  disap- 
proval. He  tried  to  pass  with  a  muttered  "  Good 
evening  " ;  but  Gibbons  was  no  easy  person  to  get 
past  against  his  will. 

"  The  gentlemen  are  out,  sir,"  he  said,  looking 
critically  at  Arthur's  rather  neglected  dress  and 
hair.  '  They  have  gone  with  the  mistress  to  an 
evening  party,  and  will  not  be  back  till  nearly 
twelve." 

Arthur  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  nine  o'clock. 
Oh,  yes!  he  would  have  time — plenty  of  time — 

1  My  mistress  desired  me  to  ask  whether  you 
would  like  any  supper,  sir;  and  to  say  that  she 


72  THE  GADFLY. 

hopes  you  will  sit  up  for  her,  as  she  particularly 
wishes  to  speak  to  you  this  evening." 

"  I  don't  want  anything,  thank  you;  you  can 
tell  her  I  have  not  gone  to  bed." 

He  went  up  to  his  room.  Nothing  in  it  had 
been  changed  since  his  arrest;  Montanelli's  por- 
trait was  on  the  table  where  he  had  placed  it,  and 
the  crucifix  stood  in  the  alcove  as  before.  He 
paused  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  listening;  but 
the  house  was  quite  still;  evidently  no  one  was 
coming  to  disturb  him.  He  stepped  softly  into  the 
room  and  locked  the  door. 

And  so  he  had  come  to  the  end.  There  was 
nothing  to  think  or  trouble  about ;  an  importunate 
and  useless  consciousness  to  get  rid  of — and  noth- 
ing more.  It  seemed  a  stupid,  aimless  kind  of 
thing,  somehow. 

He  had  not  formed  any  resolve  to  commit  sui- 
cide, nor  indeed  had  he  thought  much  about  it ; 
the  thing  was  quite  obvious  and  inevitable.  He 
had  even  no  definite  idea  as  to  what  manner  of 
death  to  choose;  all  that  mattered  was  to  be  done 
with  it  quickly — to  have  it  over  and  forget.  He 
had  no  weapon  in  the  room,  not  even  a  pocket- 
knife;  but  that  was  of  no  consequence — a  towel 
would  do,  or  a  sheet  torn  into  strips. 

There  was  a  large  nail  just  over  the  window. 
That  would  do;  but  it  must  be  firm  to  bear  his 
weight.  He  got  up  on  a  chair  to  feel  the  nail;  it 
was  not  quite  firm,  and  he  stepped  down  again  .and 
took  a  hammer  from  a  drawer.  He  knocked  in  the 
nail,  and  was  about  to  pull  a  sheet  off  his  bed, 
when  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  not 
said  his  prayers.  Of  course,  one  must  pray  before 
dying;  every  Christian  does  that.  There  are  even 
special  prayers  for  a  departing  soul. 


THE  GADFLY.  73 

He  went  into  the  alcove  and  knelt  down  before 

the  crucifix.  "  Almighty  and  merciful  God " 

he  began  aloud;  and  with  that  broke  off  and  said 
no  more.  Indeed,  the  world  was  grown  so  dull 
that  there  was  nothing  left  to  pray  for — or  against. 
And  then,  what  did  Christ  know  about  a  trouble 
of  this  kind — Christ,  who  had  never  suffered  it? 
He  had  only  been  betrayed,  like  Bolla;  He  had 
never  been  tricked  into  betraying. 

Arthur  rose,  crossing  himself  from  old  habit. 
Approaching  the  table,  he  saw  lying  upon  it  a 
letter  addressed  to  him,  in  Montanelli's  handwrit- 
ing. It  was  in  pencil: 

"  My  Dear  Boy:  It  is  a  great  disappointment 
to  me  that  I  cannot  see  you  on  the  day  of  your 
release;  but  I  have  been  sent  for  to  visit  a  dying 
man.  I  shall  not  get  back  till  late  at  night.  Come 
to  me  early  to-morrow  morning.  In  great  haste, 

"  L.  M." 

He  put  down  the  letter  with  a  sigh;  it  did  seem 
hard  on  the  Padre. 

How  the  people  had  laughed  and  gossiped  in  the 
streets!  Nothing  was  altered  since  the  days  when 
he  had  been  alive.  Not  the  least  little  one  of  all 
the  daily  trifles  round  him  was  changed  because  a 
human  soul,  a  living  human  soul,  had  been  struck 
down  dead.  It  was  all  just  the  same  as  before. 
The  water  had  plashed  in  the  fountains;  the  spar- 
rows had  twittered  under  the  eaves;  just  as  they 
had  done  yesterday,  just  as  they  would  do  to-mor- 
row. And  as  for  him,  he  was  dead — quite  dead. 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  crossed  his 
arms  along  the  foot-rail,  and  rested  his  forehead 
upon  them.  There  was  plenty  of  time;  and  his 


74  THE  GADFLY. 

head  ached  so — the  very  middle  of  the  brain 
seemetl  to  ache;  it  was  all  so  dull  and  stupid — so 
utterly  meaningless 

The  front-door  bell  rang  sharply,  and  he  started 
up  in  a  breathless  agony  of  terror,  with  both  hands 
at  his  throat.  They  had  come  back — he  had  sat 
there  dreaming,  and  let  the  precious  time  slip 
away — and  now  he  must  see  their  faces  and  hear 
their  cruel  tongues — their  sneers  and  comments — 
If  only  he  had  a  knife 

He  looked  desperately  round  the  room.  His 
mother's  work-basket  stood  in  a  little  cupboard; 
surely  there  would  be  scissors;  he  might  sever  an 
artery.  No;  the  sheet  and  nail  were  safer,  if  he 
had  time. 

He  dragged  the  counterpane  from  his  bed,  and 
with  frantic  haste  began  tearing  off  a  strip.  The 
sound  of  footsteps  came  up  the  stairs.  No;  the 
strip  was  too  wide;  it  would  not  tie  firmly;  and 
there  must  be  a  noose.  He  worked  faster  as  the 
footsteps  drew  nearer;  and  the  blood  throbbed  in 
his  temples  and  roared  in  his  ears.  Quicker — 
quicker!  Oh,  God!  five  minutes  more! 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  strip  of 
torn  stuff  dropped  from  his  hands,  and  he  sat  quite 
still,  holding  his  breath  to  listen.  The  handle  of 
the  door  was  tried;  then  Julia's  voice  called: 

"Arthur!" 

He  stood  up,  panting. 

"Arthur,  open  the  door,  please;  we  are 
waiting." 

He  gathered  up  the  torn  counterpane,  threw  it 
into  a  drawer,  and  hastily  smoothed  down  the 
bed. 

"  Arthur!  "    This  time  it  was  James  who  called, 


THE  GADFLY.  75 

and  the  door-handle  was  shaken  impatiently. 
'"  Are  you  asleep?  " 

Arthur  looked  round  the  room,  saw  that  every- 
thing was  hidden,  and  unlocked  the  door. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  at  least  have  obeyed 
my  express  request  that  you  should  sit  up  for  us, 
Arthur,"  said  Julia,  sweeping  into  the  room  in  a 
towering  passion.  "  You  appear  to  think  it  the 
proper  thing  for  us  to  dance  attendance  for  half 
an  hour  at  your  door " 

"  Four  minutes,  my  dear,"  James  mildly  cor- 
rected, stepping  into  the  room  at  the  end  of  his 
wife's  pink  satin  train.  "  I  certainly  think,  Arthur, 
that  it  would  have  been  more — becoming  if " 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  Arthur  interrupted.  He 
was  standing  with  his  hand  upon  the  door,  glanc- 
ing furtively  from  one  to  the  other  like  a  trapped 
animal.  But  James  was  too  obtuse  and  Julia  too 
angry  to  notice  the  look. 

Mr.  Burton  placed  a  chair  for  his  wife  and  sat 
down,  carefully  pulling  up  his  new  trousers  at  the 
knees.  "  Julia  and  I,"  he  began,  "  feel  it  to  be  our 
duty  to  speak  to  you  seriously  about " 

"  I  can't  listen  to-night;  I — I'm  not  well.  My 
head  aches — you  must  wait." 

Arthur  spoke  in  a  strange,  indistinct  voice,  with 
a  confused  and  rambling  manner.  James  looked 
round  in  surprise. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  you?  "  he 
asked  anxiously,  suddenly  remembering  that  Ar- 
thur had  come  from  a  very  hotbed  of  infection. 
"  I  hope  you're  not  sickening  for  anything.  You 
look  quite  feverish." 

"  Nonsense!  "  Julia  interrupted  sharply.  "  It's 
only  the  usual  theatricals,  because  he's  ashamed  to 
face  us.  Come  here  and  sit  down,  Arthur." 


76  THE  GADFLY. 

Arthur  slowly  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  on 
the  bed.  '  Yes?  "  he  said  wearily. 

Mr.  Burton  coughed,  cleared  his  throat, 
smoothed  his  already  immaculate  beard,  and  began 
the  carefully  prepared  speech  over  again: 

"  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty — my  painful  duty — to 
speak  very  seriously  to  you  about  your  extraor- 
dinary behaviour  in  connecting  yourself  with — a — 
law-breakers  and  incendiaries  and — a — persons  of 
disreputable  character.  I  believe  you  to  have  been, 
perhaps,  more  foolish  than  depraved — a 

He  paused. 

"  Yes?  "  Arthur  said  again. 

"  Now,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  hard  on  you,"  James 
went  on,  softening  a  little  in  spite  of  himself  be- 
fore the  weary  hopelessness  of  Arthur's  manner. 
"  I  am  quite  willing  to  believe  that  you  have  been 
led  away  by  bad  companions,  and  to  take  into 
account  your  youth  and  inexperience  and  the — a — 
a — imprudent  and — a — impulsive  character  which 
you  have,  I  fear,  inherited  from  your  mother." 

Arthur's  eyes  wandered  slowly  to  his  mother's 
portrait  and  back  again,  but  he  did  not  speak. 

"  But  you  will,  I  feel  sure,  understand."  James 
continued,  "  that  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to 
keep  any  longer  in  my  house  a  person  who  has 
brought  public  disgrace  upon  a  name  so  highly 
respected  as  ours." 

"  Yes?  "  Arthur  repeated  once  more. 

"  Well?  "  said  Julia  sharply,  closing  her  fan  with 
a  snap  and  laying  it  across  her  knee.  "  Are  you 
going  to  have  the  goodness  to  say  anything  but 
'  Yes,'  Arthur?  " 

"  You  will  do  as  you  think  best,  of  course,"  he 
answered  slowly,  without  moving.  "  It  doesn't 
matter  much  either  way." 


THE  GADFLY.  77 

"Doesn't — matter?"  James  repeated,  aghast; 
and  his  wife  rose  with  a  laugh. 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,  doesn't  it?  Well,  James, 
I  hope  you  understand  now  how  much  gratitude 
you  may  expect  in  that  quarter.  I  told  you  what 
would  come  of  showing  charity  to  Papist  adven- 
turesses and  their " 

"  Hush,  hush!    Never  mind  that,  my  dear!  " 

"  It's  all  nonsense,  James;  we've  had  more  than 
enough  of  this  sentimentality!  A  love-child  set- 
ting himself  up  as  a  member  of  the  family — it's 
quite  time  he  did  know  what  his  mother  was! 
Why  should  we  be  saddled  with  the  child  of 
a  Popish  priest's  amourettes?  There,  then — 
look!" 

She  pulled  a  crumpled  sheet  of  paper  out  of  her 
pocket  and  tossed  it  across  the  table  to  Arthur. 
He  opened  it;  the  writing  was  in  his  mother's 
hand,  and  was  dated  four  months  before  his  birth. 
It  was  a  confession,  addressed  to  her  husband,  and 
with  two  signatures. 

Arthur's  eyes  travelled  slowly  down  the  page, 
past  the  unsteady  letters  in  which  her  name  was 
written,  to  the  strong,  familiar  signature:  "  Lo- 
renzo Montanelli."  For  a  moment  he  stared  at 
the  writing;  then,  without  a  word,  refolded  the 
paper  and  laid  it  down.  James  rose  and  took  his 
wife  by  the  arm. 

"  There,  Julia,  that  will  do.  Just  go  downstairs 
now;  it's  late,  and  I  want  to  talk  a  little  business 
with  Arthur.  It  won't  interest  you." 

She  glanced  up  at  her  husband;  then  back  at 
Arthur,  who  was  silently  staring  at  the  floor. 

"  He  seems  half  stupid,"  she  whispered. 

When  she  had  gathered  up  her  train  and  left  the 
room,  James  carefully  shut  the  door  and  went  back 


78  THE  GADFLY. 

to  his  chair  beside  the  table.  Arthur  sat  as  before, 
perfectly  motionless  and  silent. 

"  Arthur,"  James  began  in  a  milder  tone,  now 
Julia  was  not  there  to  hear,  "  I  am  very  sorry  that 
this  has  come  out.  You  might  just  as  well  not 
have  known  it.  However,  all  that's  over;  and  I 
am  pleased  to  see  that  you  can  behave  with  such 
self-control.  Julia  is  a — a  little  excited;  ladies 
often — anyhow,  I  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on 
you." 

He  stopped  to  see  what  effect  the  kindly  words 
had  produced;  but  Arthur  was  quite  motion- 
less. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  boy,"  James  went  on  after 
a  moment,  "  this  is  a  distressing  story  altogether, 
and  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  hold  our  tongues 
about  it.  My  father  was  generous  enough  not  to 
divorce  your  mother  when  she  confessed  her  fall  to 
him;  he  only  demanded  that  the  man  who  had  led 
her  astray  should  leave  the  country  at  once;  and, 
as  you  know,  he  went  to  China  as  a  missionary. 
For  my  part,  I  was  very  much  against  your  having 
anything  to  do  with  him  when  he  came  back;  but 
my  father,  just  at  the  last,  consented  to  let  him 
teach  you,  on  condition  that  he  never  attempted  to 
see  your  mother.  I  must,  in  justice,  acknowledge 
that  I  believe  they  both  observed  that  condition 
faithfully  to  the  end.  It  is  a  very  deplorable  busi- 
ness; but ' 

Arthur  looked  up.  All  the  life  and  expression 
had  gone  out  of  his  face;  it  was  like  a  waxen 
mask. 

"D-don't  you  think,"  he  said  softly,  with  a  curi- 
ous stammering  hesitation  on  the  words,  "  th- 
that — all  this — is — v-very — funny?  " 

"  Funny  f  "     James  pushed  his  chair  away  from 


THE  GADFLY.  79 

the  table,  and  sat  staring  at  him,  too  much  petri- 
fied for  anger.     "  Funny!     Arthur,  are  you  mad?  " 

Arthur  suddenly  threw  back  his  head,  and  burst 
into  a  frantic  fit  of  laughing. 

"  Arthur!  "  exclaimed  the  shipowner,  rising  with 
dignity,  "  I  am  amazed  at  your  levity!  " 

There  was  no  answer  but  peal  after  peal  of 
laughter,  so  loud  and  boisterous  that  even  James 
began  to  doubt  whether  there  was  not  something 
more  the  matter  here  than  levity. 

"  Just  like  a  hysterical  woman,"  he  muttered, 
turning,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  his  shoul 
ders,  to  tramp  impatiently  up  and  down  the  room. 
"  Really,  Arthur,  you're  worse  than  Julia;  there, 
stop  laughing!     I  can't  wait  about  here  all  night." 

He  might  as  well  have  asked  the  crucifix  to  come 
down  from  its  pedestal.  Arthur  was  past  caring 
for  remonstrances  or  exhortations;  he  only 
laughed,  and  laughed,  and  laughed  without  end. 

"  This  is  absurd!  "  said  James,  stopping  at  last 
in  his  irritated  pacing  to  and  fro.  "  You  are  evi- 
dently too  much  excited  to  be  reasonable  to-night. 
I  can't  talk  business  with  you  if  you're  going  on 
that  way.  Come  to  me  to-morrow  morning  after 
breakfast.  And  now  you  had  better  go  to  bed. 
Good-night." 

He  went  out,  slamming  the  door.  "  Now  for 
the  hysterics  downstairs,"  he  muttered  as  he 
tramped  noisily  away.  "  I  suppose  it  '11  be  tears 
there! " 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  frenzied  laughter  died  on  Arthur's  lips. 
He  snatched  up  the  hammer  from  the  table  and 
flung  himself  upon  the  crucifix. 

With  the  crash  that  followed  he  came  suddenly 
to  his  senses,  standing  before  the  empty  pedestal, 


78  THE  GADFLY. 

to  his  chair  beside  the  table.  Arthur  sat  as  before, 
perfectly  motionless  and  silent. 

"  Arthur,"  James  began  in  a  milder  tone,  now 
Julia  was  not  there  to  hear,  "  I  am  very  sorry  that 
this  has  come  out.  You  might  just  as  well  not 
have  known  it.  However,  all  that's  over;  and  I 
am  pleased  to  see  that  you  can  behave  with  such 
self-control.  Julia  is  a — a  little  excited;  ladies 
often — anyhow,  I  don't  want  to  be  too  hard  on 
you." 

He  stopped  to  see  what  effect  the  kindly  words 
had  produced;  but  Arthur  was  quite  motion- 
less. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  boy,"  James  went  on  after 
a  moment,  "  this  is  a  distressing  story  altogether, 
and  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  hold  our  tongues 
about  it.  My  father  was  generous  enough  not  to 
divorce  your  mother  when  she  confessed  her  fall  to 
him;  he  only  demanded  that  the  man  who  had  led 
her  astray  should  leave  the  country  at  once;  and, 
as  you  know,  he  went  to  China  as  a  missionary. 
For  my  part,  I  was  very  much  against  your  having 
anything  to  do  with  him  when  he  came  back;  but 
my  father,  just  at  the  last,  consented  to  let  him 
teach  you,  on  condition  that  he  never  attempted  to 
see  your  mother.  I  must,  in  justice,  acknowledge 
that  I  believe  they  both  observed  that  condition 
faithfully  to  the  end.  It  is  a  very  deplorable  busi- 
ness; but ' 

Arthur  looked  up.  All  the  life  and  expression 
had  gone  out  of  his  face;  it  was  like  a  waxen 
mask. 

"D-don't  you  think,"  he  said  softly,  with  a  curi- 
ous stammering  hesitation  on  the  words,  "  th- 
that — all  this — is — v-very — funny?  " 

"  Funny?  "     James  pushed  his  chair  away  from 


THE  GADFLY.  79 

the  table,  and  sat  staring  at  him,  too  much  petri- 
fied for  anger.     "  Funny!     Arthur,  are  you  mad?  " 

ArthTir  suddenly  threw  back  his  head,  and  burst 
into  a  frantic  fit  of  laughing. 

"  Arthur!  "  exclaimed  the  shipowner,  rising  with 
dignity,  "  I  am  amazed  at  your  levity!  " 

There  was  no  answer  but  peal  after  peal  of 
laughter,  so  loud  and  boisterous  that  even  James 
began  to  doubt  whether  there  was  not  something 
more  the  matter  here  than  levity. 

''  Just  like  a  hysterical  woman,"  he  muttered, 
turning,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  his  shoul 
ders,  to  tramp  impatiently  up  and  down  the  room. 
"  Really,  Arthur,  you're  worse  than  Julia;  there, 
stop  laughing!     I  can't  wait  about  here  all  night." 

He  might  as  well  have  asked  the  crucifix  to  come 
down  from  its  pedestal.  Arthur  was  past  caring 
for  remonstrances  or  exhortations;  he  only 
laughed,  and  laughed,  and  laughed  without  end. 

"This  is  absurd!  "  said  James,  stopping  at  last 
in  his  irritated  pacing  to  and  fro.  "  You  are  evi- 
dently too  much  excited  to  be  reasonable  to-night. 
I  can't  talk  business  with  you  if  you're  going  on 
that  way.  Come  to  me  to-morrow  morning  after 
breakfast.  And  now  you  had  better  go  to  bed. 
Good-night." 

He  went  out,  slamming  the  door.  "  Now  for 
the  hysterics  downstairs,"  he  muttered  as  he 
tramped  noisily  away.  "  I  suppose  it  '11  be  tears 
there! " 

The  frenzied  laughter  died  on  Arthur's  lips. 
He  snatched  up  the  hammer  from  the  table  and 
flung  himself  upon  the  crucifix. 

With  the  crash  that  followed  he  came  suddenly 
to  his  senses,  standing  before  the  empty  pedestal, 


80  THE  GADFLY. 

the  hammer  still  in  his  hand,  and  the  fragments  of 
the  broken  image  scattered  on  the  floor  about  his 
feet. 

He  threw  down  the  hammer.  "So  easy!"  he 
said,  and  turned  away.  "  And  what  an  idiot 
lam!" 

He  sat  down  by  the  table,  panting  heavily  for 
breath,  and  rested  his  forehead  on  both  hands. 
Presently  he  rose,  and,  going  to  the  wash-stand, 
poured  a  jugful  of  cold  water  over  his  head  and 
face.  He  came  back  quite  composed,  and  sat  down 
to  think. 

And  it  was  for  such  things  as  these — for  these 
false  and  slavish  people,  these  dumb  and  soulless 
gods — that  he  had  suffered  all  these  tortures  of 
shame  and  passion  and  despair;  had  made  a  rope 
to  hang  himself,  forsooth,  because  one  priest  was 
a  liar.  As  if  they  were  not  all  liars!  Well,  all  that 
was  done  with;  he  was  wiser  now.  He  need  only 
shake  off  these  vermin  and  begin  life  afresh. 

There  were  plenty  of  goods  vessels  in  the  docks; 
it  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  stow  himself  away 
in  one  of  them,  and  get  across  to  Canada,  Aus- 
tralia, Cape  Colony — anywhere.  It  was  no  matter 
for  the  country,  if  only  it  was  far  enough;  and,  as 
for  the  life  out  there,  he  could  see,  and  if  it  did  not 
suit  him  he  could  try  some  other  place. 

He  took  out  his  purse.  Only  thirty-three  paoli; 
but  his  watch  was  a  good  one.  That  would  help 
him  along  a  bit;  and  in  any  case  it  was  of  no  con- 
sequence— he  should  pull  through  somehow.  But 
they  would  search  for  him,  all  these  people;  they 
would  be  sure  to  make  inquiries  at  the  docks.  No; 
he  must  put  them  on  a  false  scent — make  them 
believe  him  dead;  then  he  should  be  quite  free — 
quite  free.  He  laughed  softly  to  himself  at  the 


THE  GADFLY.  81 

thought  of  the  Burtons  searching  for  his  corpse. 
What  a  farce  the  whole  thing  was! 

Taking  a  sheet  of  paper,  he  wrote  the  first  words 
that  occurred  to  him: 

"  I  believed  in  you  as  I  believed  in  God.  God 
is  a  thing  made  of  clay,  that  I  can  smash  with  a 
hammer;  and  you  have  fooled  me  with  a  lie." 

He  folded  up  the  paper,  directed  it  to  Monta- 
nelli,  and,  taking  another  sheet,  wrote  across  it: 
"  Look  for  my  body  in  Darsena."  Then  he  put  on 
his  hat  and  went  out  of  the  room.  Passing  his 
mother's  portrait,  he  looked  up  with  a  laugh 
and  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  She,  too,  had  lied 
to  him. 

He  crept  softly  along  the  corridor,  and,  slipping 
back  the  door-bolts,  went  out  on  to  the  great, 
dark,  echoing  marble  staircase.  It  seemed  to 
yawn  beneath  him  like  a  black  pit  as  he  descended. 

He  crossed  the  courtyard,  treading  cautiously 
for  fear  of  waking  Gian  Battista,  who  slept  on  the 
ground  floor.  In  the  wood-cellar  at  the  back  was 
a  little  grated  window,  opening  on  the  canal  and 
not  more  than  four  feet  from  the  ground.  He  re- 
membered that  the  rusty  grating  had  broken  away 
on  one  side;  by  pushing  a  little  he  could  make  an 
aperture  wide  enough  to  climb  out  by. 

The  grating  was  strong,  and  he  grazed  his 
hands  badly  and  tore  the  sleeve  of  his  coat;  but 
that  was  no  matter.  He  looked  up  and  down  the 
street;  there  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  the  canal 
lay  black  and  silent,  an  ugly  trench  between  two 
straight  and  slimy  walls.  The  untried  universe 
might  prove  a  dismal  hole,  but  it  could  hardly  be 
more  flat  and  sordid  than  the  corner  which  he  was 


82  THE  GADFLY. 

leaving  behind  him.  There  was  nothing  to  regret; 
nothing  to  look  back  upon.  It  had  been  a  pestilent 
little  stagnant  world,  full  of  squalid  lies  and  clumsy 
cheats  and  foul-smelling  ditches  that  were  not 
even  deep  enough  to  drown  a  man. 

He  walked  along  the  canal  bank,  and  came  out 
upon  the  tiny  square  by  the  Medici  palace.  It  was 
here  that  Gemma  had  run  up  to  him  with  her  vivid 
face,  her  outstretched  hands.  Here  was  the  little 
flight  of  wet  stone  steps  leading  down  to  the  moat; 
and  there  the  fortress  scowling  across  the  strip  of 
dirty  water.  He  had  never  noticed  before  how 
squat  and  mean  it  looked. 

Passing  through  the  narrow  streets  he  reached 
the  Darsena  shipping-basin,  where  he  took  off  his 
hat  and  flung  it  into  the  water.  It  would  be 
found,  of  course,  when  they  dragged  for  his  body. 
Then  he  walked  on  along  the  water's  edge,  con- 
sidering perplexedly  what  to  do  next.  He  must 
contrive  to  hide  on  some  ship;  but  it  was  a  diffi- 
cult thing  to  do.  His  only  chance  would  be  to 
get  on  to  the  huge  old  Medici  breakwater  and 
walk  along  to  the  further  end  of  it.  There  was  a 
low-class  tavern  on  the  point;  probably  he  should 
find  some  sailor  there  who  could  be  bribed. 

But  the  dock  gates  were  closed.  How  should 
he  get  past  them,  and  past  the  customs  officials? 
His  stock  of  money  would  not  furnish  the  high 
bribe  that  they  would  demand  for  letting  him 
through  at  night  and  without  a  passport.  Be- 
sides they  might  recognize  him. 

As  he  passed  the  bronze  statue  of  the  "  Four 
Moors,"  a  man's  figure  emerged  from  an  old  house 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  shipping  basin  and 
approached  the  bridge.  Arthur  slipped  at  once 
into  the  deep  shadow  behind  the  group  of  statu- 


THE  GADFLY.  83 

ary  and  crouched  down  in  the  darkness,  peeping 
cautiously  round  the  corner  of  the  pedestal. 

It  was  a  soft  spring-  night,  warm  and  starlit. 
The  water  lapped  against  the  stone  walls  of  the 
basin  and  swirled  in  gentle  eddies  round  the  steps 
with  a  sound  as  of  low  laughter.  Somewhere  near 
a  chain  creaked,  swinging  slowly  to  and  fro.  A 
huge  iron  crane  towered  up,  tall  and  melancholy 
in  the  dimness.  Black  on  a  shimmering  expanse  of 
starry  sky  and  pearly  cloud-wreaths,  the  figures 
of  the  fettered,  struggling  slaves  stood  out  in 
vain  and  vehement  protest  against  a  merciless 
doom. 

The  man  approached  unsteadily  along  the  water 
side,  shouting  an  English  street  song.  He  was 
evidently  a  sailor  returning  from  a  carouse  at  some 
tavern.  No  one  else  was  within  sight.  As  he 
drew  near,  Arthur  stood  up  and  stepped  into  the 
middle  of  the  roadway.  The  sailor  broke  off  in 
his  song  with  an  oath,  and  stopped  short. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  Arthur  said  in 
Italian.  "  Do  you  understand  me?  " 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "  Its  no  use  talking 
that  patter  to  me,"  he  said;  then,  plunging  into 
bad  French,  asked  sullenly:  "  What  do  you  want? 
Why  can't  you  let  me  pass?  " 

"Just  come  out  of  the  light  here  a  minute;  I 
want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Ah!  wouldn't  you  like  it?  Out  of  the  light! 
Got  a  knife  an_,  .^here  about  you?  " 

"  No,  no,  man*  Can't  you  see  I  only  want  your 
help?  I'll  pay  you  for  it?" 

"Eh?  What?  And  dressed  like  a  swell, 

too The  sailor  had  relapsed  into  English. 

He  now  moved  into  the  shadow  and  leaned  against 
the  railing  of  the  pedestal. 


84  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  returning  to  his  atrocious 
French;  "  and  what  is  it  you  want?  " 

"  I  want  to  get  away  from  here 

"Aha!  Stowaway!  Want  me  to  hide  you? 
Been  up  to  something,  I  suppose.  Stuck  a  knife 
into  somebody,  eh?  Just  like  these  foreigners! 
And  where  might  you  be  wanting  to  go?  Not 
to  the  police  station,  I  fancy?  " 

He  laughed  in  his  tipsy  way,  and  winked  one 
eye. 

"  What  vessel  do  you  belong  to?  " 

"  Carlotta — Leghorn  to  Buenos  Ayres;  shipping 
oil  one  way  and  hides  the  other.  She's  over 
there  "•  —  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  break- 
water— "  beastly  old  hulk!  " 

"  Buenos  Ayres — yes!  Can  you  hide  me  any- 
where on  board?  " 

"  How  much  can  you  give?  " 

"  Not  very  much;  I  have  only  a  few  paoli." 

"  No.  Can't  do  it  under  fifty — and  cheap  at 
that,  too — a  swell  like  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  swell?  If  you  like  my 
clothes  you  may  change  with  me,  but  I  can't  give 
you  more  money  than  I  have  got." 

"  You  have  a  watch  there.     Hand  it  over." 

Arthur  took  out  a  lady's  gold  watch,  delicately 
chased  and  enamelled,  with  the  initials  "  G.  B."  on 
the  back.  It  had  been  his  mother's — but  what 
did  that  matter  now? 

"  Ah!  "  remarked  the  sailor  with  a  quick  glance 
at  it.  "  Stolen,  of  course!  Let  me  look!  " 

Arthur  drew  his  hand  away.  "  No,"  he  said. 
"  I  will  give  you  the  watch  when  we  are  on  board ; 
not  before." 

"  You're  not  such  a  fool  as  you  look,  after  all! 
I'll  bet  it's  your  first  scrape,  though,  eh?" 


THE  GADFLY.  85 

'That  is  my  business.  Ah!  there  comes  the 
watchman." 

They  crouched  down  behind  the  group  of  statu- 
ary and  waited  till  the  watchman  had  passed. 
Then  the  sailor  rose,  and,  telling  Arthur  to  follow 
him,  walked  on,  laughing  foolishly  to  himself. 
Arthur  followed  in  silence. 

The  sailor  led  him  back  to  the  little  irregular 
square  by  the  Medici  palace;  and,  stopping  in  a 
dark  corner,  mumbled  in  what  was  intended  for  a 
cautious  whisper: 

"  Wait  here;  those  soldier  fellows  will  see  you 
if  you  come  further." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  Get  you  some  clothes.  I'm  not  going  to  take 
you  on  board  with  that  bloody  coatsleeve." 

Arthur  glanced  down  at  the  sleeve  which  had 
been  torn  by  the  window  grating.  A  little  blood 
from  the  grazed  hand  had  fallen  upon  it.  Evi- 
dently the  man  thought  him  a  murderer.  Well, 
it  was  of  no  consequence  what  people  thought. 

After  some  time  the  sailor  came  back,  triumph- 
ant, with  a  bundle  under  his  arm. 

"Change,"  he  whispered;  "and  make  haste 
about  it.  I  must  get  back,  and  that  old  Jew  has 
kept  me  bargaining  and  haggling  for  half  an 
hour." 

Arthur  obeyed,  shrinking  with  instinctive  dis- 
gust at  the  first  touch  of  second-hand  clothes. 
Fortunately  these,  though  rough  and  coarse,  were 
fairly  clean.  When  he  stepped  into  the  light  in 
his  new  attire,  the  sailor  looked  at  him  with  tipsy 
solemnity  and  gravely  nodded  his  approval. 

"  You'll  do,"  he  said.  "  This  way,  and  don't 
make  a  noise."  Arthur,  carrying  his  discarded 
clothers,  followed  him  through  a  labyrinth  of  wind- 


88  THE  GADFLY. 

ment  cell,"  and  descended  the  ladder,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  Life  is  pretty  much  the  same 
everywhere,  it  seemed;  ugly,  putrid,  infested  with 
vermin,  full  of  shameful  secrets  and  dark  corners. 
Still,  life  is  life,  and  he  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  sailor  came  back  with 
something  in  his  hands  which  Arthur  could  not 
distinctly  see  for  the  darkness. 

"  Now,  give  me  the  watch  and  money.  Make 
haste!" 

Taking  advantage  of  the  darkness,  Arthur  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  back  a  few  coins. 

"  You  must  get  me  something  to  eat,"  he  said; 
"  I  am  half  starved." 

"  I've  brought  it.  Here  you  are."  The  sailor 
handed  him  a  pitcher,  some  hard  biscuit,  and  a 
piece  of  salt  pork.  "  Now  mind,  you  must  hide 
in  this  empty  barrel,  here,  when  the  customs  offi- 
cers come  to  examine  to-morrow  morning.  Keep 
as  still  as  a  mouse  till  we're  right  out  at  sea.  I'll 
let  you  know  when  to  come  out.  And  won't  you 
just  catch  it  when  the  captain  sees  you — that's 
all!  Got  the  drink  safe?  Good-night!" 

The  hatchway  closed,  and  Arthur,  setting  the 
precious  "  drink  "  in  a  safe  place,  climbed  on  to  an 
oil  barrel  to  eat  his  pork  and  biscuit.  Then  he 
curled  himself  up  on  the  dirty  floor;  and,  for  the 
first  time  since  his  babyhood,  settled  himself  to 
sleep  without  a  prayer.  The  rats  scurried  round 
him  in  the  darkness;  but  neither  their  persistent 
noise  nor  the  swaying  of  the  ship,  nor  the  nause- 
ating stench  of  oil,  nor  the  prospect  of  to-mor- 
row's sea-sickness,  could  keep  him  awake.  He 
cared  no  more  for  them  all  than  for  the  broken  and 
dishonoured  idols  that  only  yesterday  had  been 
the  gods  of  his  adoration. 


PART  II. 
THIRTEEN    YEARS    LATER. 


PART    II. 
THIRTEEN    YEARS   LATER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ONE  evening  in  July,  1846,  a  few  acquaintances 
met  at  Professor  Fabrizi's  house  in  Florence  to 
discuss  plans  for  future  political  work. 

Several  of  them  belonged  to  the  Mazzinian 
party  and  would  have  been  satisfied  with  nothing 
less  than  a  democratic  Republic  and  a  United 
Italy.  Others  were  Constitutional  Monarchists 
and  Liberals  of  various  shades.  On  one  point, 
however,  they  were  all  agreed;  that  of  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  Tuscan  censorship;  and  the  popular 
professor  had  called  the  meeting  in  the  hope  that, 
on  this  one  subject  at  least,  the  representatives 
of  the  dissentient  parties  would  be  able  to  get 
through  an  hour's  discussion  without  quarrelling. 

Only  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  the  famous 
amnesty  which  Pius  IX.  had  granted,  on  his  acces- 
sion, to  political  offenders  in  the  Papal  States;  but 
the  wave  of  liberal  enthusiasm  caused  by  it  was 
already  spreading  over  Italy.  In  Tuscany  even 
the  government  appeared  to  have  been  affected 
by  the  astounding  event.  It  had  occurred  to 
Fabrizi  and  a  few  other  leading  Florentines  that 
this  was  a  propitious  moment  for  a  bold  effort  to 
reform  the  press-laws. 


92  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Of  course,"  the  dramatist  Lega  had  said,  when 
the  subject  was  first  broached  to  him;  "it  would 
be  impossible  to  start  a  newspaper  till  we  can 
get  the  press-law  changed;  we  should  not  bring 
out  the  first  number.  But  we  may  be  able  to  run 
some  pamphlets  through  the  censorship  already; 
and  the  sooner  we  begin  the  sooner  we  shall  get 
the  law  changed." 

He  was  now  explaining  in  Fabrizi's  library  his 
theory  of  the  line  which  should  be  taken  by  liberal 
writers  at  the  moment. 

'  There  is  no  doubt,"  interposed  one  of  the 
company,  a  gray-haired  barrister  with  a  rather 
drawling  manner  of  speech,  "  that  in  some  way 
we  must  take  advantage  of  the  moment.  We 
shall  not  see  such  a  favourable  one  again  for  bring- 
ing forward  serious  reforms.  But  I  doubt  the 
pamphlets  doing  any  good.  They  will  only  irri- 
tate and  frighten  the  government  instead  of  win- 
ning it  over  to  our  side,  which  is  what  we  really 
want  to  do.  If  once  the  authorities  begin  to  think 
of  us  as  dangerous  agitators  our  chance  of  getting 
their  help  is  gone." 

"  Then  what  would  you  have  us  do?  " 

"  Petition." 

"To  the  Grand  Duke?" 

'  Yes;  for  an  augmentation  of  the  liberty  of  the 
press." 

A  keen-looking,  dark  man  sitting  by  the  win- 
dow turned  his  head  round  with  a  laugh. 

'  You'll  get  a  lot  out  of  petitioning!  "  he  said. 
"  I  should  have  thought  the  result  of  the  Renzi 
case  was  enough  to  cure  anybody  of  going  to  work 
that  way." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  am  as  much  grieved  as  you  are 
that  we  did  not  succeed  in  preventing  the  extra- 


THE  GADFLY.  93 

dition  of  Renzi.  But  really — I  do  not  wish  to 
hurt  the  sensibilities  of  anyone,  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  our  failure  in  that  case  was  largely 
due  to  the  impatience  and  vehemence  of  some 
persons  among  our  number.  I  should  certainly 
hesitate " 

"  As  every  Piedmontese  always  does,"  the  dark 
man  interrupted  sharply.  "  I  don't  know  where 
the  vehemence  and  impatience  lay,  unless  you 
found  them  in  the  strings  of  meek  petitions  we 
sent  in.  That  may  be  vehemence  for  Tuscany  or 
Piedmont,  but  we  should  not  call  it  particularly 
vehement  in  Naples." 

"  Fortunately,"  remarked  the  Piedmontese, 
"  Neapolitan  vehemence  is  peculiar  to  Naples." 

"  There,  there,  gentlemen,  that  will  do!  "  the 
professor  put  in.  "  Neapolitan  customs  are  very 
good  things  in  their  way  and  Piedmontese  cus- 
toms in  theirs;  but  just  now  we  are  in  Tuscany, 
and  the  Tuscan  custom  is  to  stick  to  the 
matter  in  hand.  Grassini  votes  for  petitions  and 
Galli  against  them.  What  do  you  think,  Dr. 
Riccardo?  " 

"  I  see  no  harm  in  petitions,  and  if  Grassini  gets 
one  up  I'll  sign  it  with  all  the  pleasure  in  life. 
But  I  don't  think  mere  petitioning  and  nothing 
else  will  accomplish  much.  Why  can't  we  have 
both  petitions  and  pamphlets?  " 

"  Simply  because  the  pamphlets  will  put  the 
government  into  a  state  of  mind  in  which  it  won't 
grant  the  petitions,"  said  Grassini. 

"  It  won't  do  that  anyhow."  The  Neapolitan 
rose  and  came  across  to  the  table.  "  Gentlemen, 
you're  on  the  wrong  tack.  Conciliating  the  gov- 
ernment will  do  no  good.  What  we  must  do  is  to 
rouse  the  people." 


94  THE  GADFLY. 

"  That's  easier  said  than  done;  how  are  you 
going  to  start?  " 

"  Fancy  asking  Galli  that !  Of  course  he'd  start 
by  knocking  the  censor  on  the  head." 

"  No,  indeed,  I  shouldn't,"  said  Galli  stoutly. 
"  You  always  think  if  a  man  comes  from  down 
south  he  must  believe  in  no  argument  but  cold 
steel." 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose,  then?  Sh!  At- 
tention, gentlemen!  Galli  has  a  proposal  to 
make." 

The  whole  company,  which  had  broken  up  into 
little  knots  of  twos  and  threes,  carrying  on  sep^ 
arate  discussions,  collected  round  the  table  to 
listen.  Galli  raised  his  hands  in  expostulation. 

"  No,  gentlemen,  it  is  not  a  proposal;  it  is  merely 
a  suggestion.  It  appears  to  me  that  there  is  a 
great  practical  danger  in  all  this  rejoicing  over 
the  new  Pope.  People  seem  to  think  that,  be- 
cause he  has  struck  out  a  new  line  and  granted 
this  amnesty,  we  have  only  to  throw  ourselves — 
all  of  us,  the  whole  of  Italy — into  his  arms  and  he 
will  carry  us  to  the  promised  land.  Now,  I  am 
second  to  no  one  in  admiration  of  the  Pope's 
behaviour;  the  amnesty  was  a  splendid  action." 

"  I  am  sure  His  Holiness  ought  to  feel  flat- 
tered— '  Grassini  began  contemptuously. 

"There,  Grassini,  do  let  the  man  speak!" 
Riccardo  interrupted  in  his  turn.  "  It's  a  most 
extraordinary  thing  that  you  two  never  can 
keep  from  sparring  like  a  cat  and  dog.  Get  on, 
Galli!" 

11  What  I  wanted  to  say  is  this,"  continued  the 
Neapolitan.  "  The  Holy  Father,  undoubtedly,  is 
acting  with  the  best  intentions;  but  how  far  he 
will  succeed  in  carrying  his  reforms  is  another 


THE  GADFLY.  95 

question.  Just  now  it's  smooth  enough  and,  of 
course,  the  reactionists  all  over  Italy  will  lie  quiet 
for  a  month  or  two  till  the  excitement  about  the 
amnesty  blows  over;  but  they  are  not  likely  to 
let  the  power  be  taken  out  of  their  hands  without 
a  fight,  and  my  own  belief  is  that  before  the  winter 
is  half  over  we  shall  have  Jesuits  and  Gregorians 
and  Sanfedists  and  all  the  rest  of  the  crew  about 
our  ears,  plotting  and  intriguing,  and  poisoning 
off  everybody  they  can't  bribe." 

"  That's  likely  enough." 

"Very  well,  then;  shall  we  wait  here,  meekly 
sending  in  petitions,  till  Lambruschini  and  his 
pack  have  persuaded  the  Grand  Duke  to  put  us 
bodily  under  Jesuit  rule,  with  perhaps  a  few  Aus- 
trian hussars  to  patrol  the  streets  and  keep  us 
in  order;  or  shall  we  forestall  them  and  take  advan- 
tage of  their  momentary  discomfiture  to  strike 
the  first  blow?  " 

"  Tell  us  first  what  blow  you  propose?  " 

"  I  would  suggest  that  we  start  an  organized 
propaganda  and  agitation  against  the  Jesuits." 

"  A  pamphleteering  declaration  of  war,  in 
fact?" 

"Yes;  exposing  their  intrigues,  ferreting  out 
their  secrets,  and  calling  upon  the  people  to  make 
common  cause  against  them." 

"  But  there  are  no  Jesuits  here  to  expose." 

"  Aren't  there?  Wait  three  months  and  see 
how  many  we  shall  have.  It  '11  be  too  late  to  keep 
them  out  then." 

"  But  really  to  rouse  the  town  against  the 
Jesuits  one  must  speak  plainly;  and  if  you  do  that 
how  will  you  evade  the  censorship?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  evade  it;  I  would  defy  it." 

"  You  would  print  the  pamphlets  anonymously? 


96  THE  GADFLY. 

That's  all  very  well,  but  the  fact  is,  we  have  all 
seen  enough  of  the  clandestine  press  to  know— 

"  I  did  not  mean  that.  I  would  print  the  pam- 
phlets openly,  with  our  names  and  addresses,  and 
let  them  prosecute  us  if  they  dare." 

"  The  project  is  a  perfectly  mad  one,"  Grassini 
exclaimed.  "  It  is  simply  putting  one's  head  into 
the  lion's  mouth  out  of  sheer  wantonness." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid!"  Galli  cut  in 
sharply;  "we  shouldn't  ask  you  to  go  to  prison 
for  our  pamphlets." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Galli!"  said  Riccardo. 
"  It's  not  a  question  of  being  afraid;  we're  all  as 
ready  as  you  are  to  go  to  prison  if  there's  any  good 
to  be  got  by  it,  but  it  is  childish  to  run  into  danger 
for  nothing.  For  my  part,  I  have  an  amendment 
to  the  proposal  to  suggest." 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  " 

"  I  think  we  might  contrive,  with  care,  to  fight 
the  Jesuits  without  coming  into  collision  with  the 
censorship." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going  to  manage  it." 

"  I  think  that  it  is  possible  to  clothe  what  one 
has  to  say  in  so  roundabout  a  form  that— 

"That  the  censorship  won't  understand  it? 
And  then  you'll  expect  every  poor  artisan  and 
labourer  to  find  out  the  meaning  by  the  light  of 
the  ignorance  and  stupidity  that  are  in  him!  That 
doesn't  sound  very  practicable." 

"  Martini,  what  do  you  think?  "  asked  the  pro- 
fessor, turning  to  a  broad-shouldered  man  with 
a  great  brown  beard,  who  was  sitting  beside  him. 

"  I  think  that  I  will  reserve  my  opinion  till  I 
have  more  facts  to  go  upon.  It's  a  question  of 
trying  experiments  and  seeing  what  comes  of 
them." 


THE  GADFLY.  97 

"  And  you,  Sacconi?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  what  Signora  Bolla  has 
to  say.  Her  suggestions-  are  always  valuable." 

Everyone  turned  to  the  only  woman  in  the 
room,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  sofa,  resting 
her  chin  on  one  hand  and  listening  in  silence  to 
the  discussion.  She  had  deep,  serious  black  eyes, 
but  as  she  raised  them  now  there  was  an  unmis- 
takable gleam  of  amusement  in  them. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said;  "  that  I  disagree  with 
everybody." 

'  You  always  do,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  you 
are  always  right,"  Riccardo  put  in. 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  true  that  we  must  fight  the 
Jesuits  somehow;  and  if  we  can't  do  it  with  one 
weapon  we  must  with  another.  But  mere  defi- 
ance is  a  feeble  weapon  and  evasion  a  cumbersome 
one.  As  for  petitioning,  that  is  a  child's  toy." 

"  I  hope,  signora,"  Grassini  interposed,  with 
a  solemn  face;  "  that  you  are  not  suggesting  such 
methods  as — assassination?  " 

Martini  tugged  at  his  big  moustache  and  Galli 
sniggered  outright.  Even  the  grave  young 
woman  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

"  Believe  me,"  she  said,  "that  if  I  were  ferocious 
enough  to  think  of  such  things  I  should  not  be 
childish  enough  to  talk  about  them.  But  the 
deadliest  weapon  I  know  is  ridicule.  If  you  can 
once  succeed  in  rendering  the  Jesuits  ludicrous, 
in  making  people  laugh  at  them  and  their  claims, 
you  have  conquered  them  without  bloodshed." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  as  far  as  that  goes," 
Fabrizi  said;  "but  I  don't  see  how  you  are  going 
to  carry  the  thing  through." 

"  Why  should  we  not  be  able  to  carry  it 
through?  "  asked  Martini.  "  A  satirical  thing  has 


98  THE  GADFLY. 

a  better  chance  of  getting  over  the  censorship 
difficulty  than  a  serious  one;  and,  if  it  must  be 
cloaked,  the  average  reader  is  more  likely  to  find 
out  the  double  meaning  of  an  apparently  silly  joke 
than  of  a  scientific  or  economic  treatise." 

"  Then  is  your  suggestion,  signora,  that  we 
should  issue  satirical  pamphlets,  or  attempt  to  run 
a  comic  paper?  That  last,  I  am  sure,  the  censor- 
ship would  never  allow." 

"  I  don't  mean  exactly  either.  I  believe  a  series 
of  small  satirical  leaflets,  in  verse  or  prose,  to  be 
sold  cheap  or  distributed  free  about  the  streets, 
would  be  very  useful.  If  we  could  find  a  clever 
artist  who  would  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing, 
we  might  have  them  illustrated." 

"  It's  a  capital  idea,  if  only  one  could  carry  it 
out;  but  if  the  thing  is  to  be  done  at  all  it  must 
be  well  done.  We  should  want  a  first-class  sati- 
rist; and  where  are  we  to  get  him?  " 

"  You  see,"  added  Lega,  "  most  of  us  are 
serious  writers;  and,  with  all  respect  to  the  com- 
pany, I  am  afraid  that  a  general  attempt  to  be 
humorous  would  present  the  spectacle  of  an  ele- 
phant trying  to  dance  the  tarantella." 

"  I  never  suggested  that  we  should  all  rush  into 
work  for  which  we  are  unfitted.  My  idea  was 
that  we  should  try  to  find  a  really  gifted  satirist- 
there  must  be  one  to  be  got  somewhere  in  Italy, 
surely — and  offer  to  provide  the  necessary  funds. 
Of  course  we  should  have  to  know  something  of 
the  man  and  make  sure  that  he  would  work  on 
lines  with  which  we  could  agree." 

"  But  where  are  you  going  to  find  him?  I  can 
count  up  the  satirists  of  any  real  talent  on  the 
fingers  of  one  hand;  and  none  of  them  are  avail- 
able. Giusti  wouldn't  accept;  he  is  fully  occupied 


THE  GADFLY.  99 

as  it  is.  There  are  one  or  two  good  men  in 
Lombardy,  but  they  write  only  in  the  Milanese 
dialect " 

"  And  moreover,"  said  Grassini,  "  the  Tuscan 
people  can  be  influenced  in  better  ways  than  this. 
I  am  sure  that  it  would  be  felt  as,  to  say  the  least, 
a  want  of  political  savoir  faire  if  we  were  to  treat 
this  solemn  question  of  civil  and  religious  liberty 
as  a  subject  for  trifling.  Florence  is  not  a  mere 
wilderness  of  factories  and  money-getting  like 
London,  nor  a  haunt  of  idle  luxury  like  Paris.  It 
is  a  city  with  a  great  history " 

"  So  was  Athens,"  she  interrupted,  smiling; 
"  but  it  was  '  rather  sluggish  from  its  size  and 
needed  a  gadfly  to  rouse  it ' " 

Riccardo  struck  his  hand  upon  the  table. 
"  Why,  we  never  thought  of  the  Gadfly!  The  very 
man!" 

"Who  is  that?" 

'  The  Gadfly — Felice  Rivarez.  Don't  you  re- 
member him?  One  of  Muratori's  band  that  came 
down  from  the  Apennines  three  years  ago?  " 

"  Oh,  you  knew  that  set,  didn't  you?  I  remem- 
ber your  travelling  with  them  when  they  went  on 
to  Paris." 

'  Yes;  I  went  as  far  as  Leghorn  to  see  Rivarez 
off  for  Marseilles.  He  wouldn't  stop  in  Tuscany; 
he  said  there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but  laugh, 
once  the  insurrection  had  failed,  and  so  he  had 
better  go  to  Paris.  No  doubt  he  agreed  with 
Signer  Grassini  that  Tuscany  is  the  wrong  place 
to  laugh  in.  But  I  am  nearly  sure  he  would  come 
back  if  we  asked  him,  now  that  there  is  a  chance 
of  doing  something  in  Italy." 

"  What  name  did  you  say?  " 

"  Rivarez.     He's  a  Brazilian,  I  think.     At  any 


too  THE  GADFLY. 

rate,  I  know  he  has  lived  out  there.  He  is  one  of 
the  wittiest  men  I  ever  came  across.  Heaven 
knows  we  had  nothing  to  be  merry  over,  that  week 
in  Leghorn;  it  was  enough  to  break  one's  heart  to 
look  at  poor  Lambertini;  but  there  was  no  keep- 
ing one's  countenance  when  Rivarez  was  in  the 
room;  it  was  one  perpetual  fire  of  absurdities.  He 
had  a  nasty  sabre-cut  across  the  face,  too;  I 
remember  sewing  it  up.  He's  an  odd  creature; 
but  I  believe  he  and  his  nonsense  kept  some  of 
those  poor  lads  from  breaking  down  altogether." 

"  Is  that  the  man  who  writes  political  skits 
in  the  French  papers  under  the  name  of  '  Le 
Taon'?" 

'  Yes;  short  paragraphs  mostly,  and  comic 
feuilletons.  The  smugglers  up  in  the  Apennines 
called  him  '  the  Gadfly  '  because  of  his  tongue; 
and  he  took  the  nickname  to  sign  his  work 
with." 

"  I  know  something  about  this  gentleman," 
said  Grassini,  breaking  in  upon  the  conversation 
in  his  slow  and  stately  manner;  "  and  I  cannot  say 
that  what  I  have  heard  is  much  to  his  credit.  He 
undoubtedly  possesses  a  certain  showy,  superficial 
cleverness,  though  I  think  his  abilities  have  been 
exaggerated;  and  possibly  he  is  not  lacking  in 
physical  courage;  but  his  reputation  in  Paris  and 
Vienna  is,  I  believe,  very  far  from  spotless.  He 
appears  to  be  a  gentleman  of — a — a — many  adven- 
tures and  unknown  antecedents.  It  is  said  that  he 
was  picked  up  out  of  charity  by  Duprez's  expedi- 
tion somewhere  in  the  wilds  of  tropical  South 
America,  in  a  state  of  inconceivable  savagery  and 
degradation.  I  believe  he  has  never  satisfactorily 
explained  how  he  came  to  be  in  such  a  condition. 
As  for  the  rising  in  the  Apennines,  I  fear  it  is  no 


THE  GADFLY.  lot 

secret  that  persons  of  all  characters  took  part  in 
that  unfortunate  affair.  The  men  who  were  exe- 
cuted in  Bologna  are  known  to  have  been  nothing 
but  common  malefactors;  and  the  character  of 
many  who  escaped  will  hardly  bear  description. 
Without  doubt,  some  of  the  participators  were 
men  of  high  character " 

"  Some  of  them  were  the  intimate  friends  of 
several  persons  in  this  room!"  Riccardo  inter- 
rupted, with  an  angry  ring  in  his  voice.  "  It's  all 
very  well  to  be  particular  and  exclusive,  Grassini; 
but  these  '  common  malefactors '  died  for  their 
belief,  which  is  more  than  you  or  I  have  done  as 
yet." 

"  And  another  time  when  people  tell  you  the 
stale  gossip  of  Paris,"  added  Galli,  "  you  can  tell 
them  from  me  that  they  are  mistaken  about  the 
Duprez  expedition.  I  know  Duprez's  adjutant, 
Martel,  personally,  and  have  heard  the  whole  story 
from  him.  It's  true  that  they  found  Rivarez 
stranded  out  there.  He  had  been  taken  prisoner 
in  the  war,  fighting  for  the  Argentine  Republic, 
and  had  escaped.  He  was  wandering  about  the 
country  in  various  disguises,  trying  to  get  back 
to  Buenos  Ayres.  But  the  story  of  their  taking 
him  on  out  of  charity  is  a  pure  fabrication.  Their 
interpreter  had  fallen  ill  and  been  obliged  to  turn 
back;  and  not  one  of  the  Frenchmen  could  speak 
the  native  languages;  so  they  offered  him  the  post, 
and  he  spent  the  whole  three  years  with  them, 
exploring  the  tributaries  of  the  Amazon.  Martel 
told  me  he  believed  they  never  would  have  got 
through  the  expedition  at  all  if  it  had  not  been 
for  Rivarez/' 

"Whatever  he  may  be,"  said  Fabrizi;  "there 
must  be  something  remarkable  about  a  man  who 


102  THE  GADFLY. 

could  lay  his  '  come  hither  '  on  two  old  campaign- 
ers  like  Martel  and  Duprez  as  he  seems  to  have 
done.  What  do  you  think,  signora?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  the  matter;  I  was  in 
England  when  the  fugitives  passed  through  Tus- 
cany. But  I  should  think  that  if  the  companions 
who  were  with  a  man  on  a  three  years'  expedition 
in  savage  countries,  and  the  comrades  who  were 
with  him  through  an  insurrection,  think  well  of 
him,  that  is  recommendation  enough  to  counter- 
balance a  good  deal  of  boulevard  gossip." 

'  There  is  no  question  about  the  opinion  his 
comrades  had  of  him,"  said  Riccardo.  "  From 
Muratori  and  Zambeccari  down  to  the  roughest 
mountaineers  they  were  all  devoted  to  him. 
Moreover,  he  is  a  personal  friend  of  Orsini.  It's 
quite  true,  on  the  other  hand,  that  there  are  end- 
less cock-and-bull  stories  of  a  not  very  pleasant 
kind  going  about  concerning  him  in  Paris;  but  if 
a  man  doesn't  want  to  make  enemies  he  shouldn't 
become  a  political  satirist." 

"I'm  not  quite  sure,"  interposed  Lega;  "but 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  saw  him  once  when 
the  refugees  were  here.  Was  he  not  hunch- 
backed, or  crooked,  or  something  of  that  kind?  " 

The  professor  had  opened  a  drawer  in  his  writ- 
ing-table and  was  turning  over  a  heap  of  papers 
"  I  think  I  have  his  police  description  somewhere 
here,"  he  said.  "  You  remember  when  they  es- 
caped and  hid  in  the  mountain  passes  their  per- 
sonal appearance  was  posted  up  everywhere,  and 
that  Cardinal — what's  the  scoundrel's  name? — 
Spinola,  offered  a  reward  for  their  heads." 

'  There  was  a  splendid  story  about  Rivarez  and 
that  police  paper,  by  the  way.  He  put  on  a 
soldier's  old  uniform  and  tramped  across  country 


THE  GADFLY.  103 

as  a  carabineer  wounded  in  the  discharge  of  his 
duty  and  trying  to  find  his  company.  He  actually 
got  Spinola's  search-party  to  give  him  a  lift,  and 
rode  the  whole  day  in  one  of  their  waggons, 
telling  them  harrowing  stories  of  how  he  had  been 
taken  captive  by  the  rebels  and  dragged  off  into 
their  haunts  in  the  mountains,  and  of  the  fearful 
tortures  that  he  had  suffered  at  their  hands.  They 
showed  him  the  description  paper,  and  he  told 
them  all  the  rubbish  he  could  think  of  about  '  the 
fiend  they  call  the  Gadfly.'  Then  at  night,  when 
they  were  asleep,  he  poured  a  bucketful  of  water 
into  their  powder  and  decamped,  with  his  pockets 
full  of  provisions  and  ammunition " 

"  Ah,  here's  the  paper,"  Fabrizi  broke  in:  "  '  Fe- 
lice Rivarez,  called:  The  Gadfly.  Age,  about  30; 
birthplace  and  parentage,  unknown,  probably 
South  American;  profession,  journalist.  Short; 
black  hair;  black  beard;  dark  skin;  eyes,  blue;  fore- 
head, broad  and  square;  nose,  mouth,  chin ' 

Yes,  here  it  is:  '  Special  marks:  right  foot  lame; 
left  arm  twisted;  two  fingers  missing  on  left  hand; 
recent  sabre-cut  across  face;  stammers.'  Then 
there's  a  note  put:  '  Very  expert  shot;  care  should 
be  taken  in  arresting.' ' 

"  It's  an  extraordinary  thing  that  he  can  have 
managed  to  deceive  the  search-party  with  such  a 
formidable  list  of  identification  marks." 

"  It  was  nothing  but  sheer  audacity  that  carried 
him  through,  of  course.  If  it  had  once  occurred 
to  them  to  suspect  him  he  would  have  been  lost. 
But  the  air  of  confiding  innocence  that  he  can  put 
on  when  he  chooses  would  bring  a  man  through 
anything.  Well,  gentlemen,  what  do  you  think  of 
the  proposal?  Rivarez  seems  to  be  pretty  well 
known  to  several  of  the  company.  Shall  we  sug- 


104  THE  GADFLY. 

gest  to  him  that  we  should  be  glad  of  his  help 
here  or  not?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Fabrizi,  "  that  he  might  be 
sounded  upon  the  subject,  just  to  find  out  whether 
he  would  be  inclined  to  think  of  the  plan." 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  inclined,  you  may  be  sure,  once 
it's  a  case  of  fighting  the  Jesuits;  he  is  the  most 
savage  anti-clerical  I  ever  met;  in  fact,  he's  rather 
rabid  on  the  point." 

"  Then  will  you  write,  Riccardo?  " 

"  Certainly.  Let  me  see,  where  is  he  now?  In 
Switzerland,  I  think.  He's  the  most  restless 
being;  always  flitting  about.  But  as  for  the  pam- 
phlet question— 

They  plunged  into  a  long  and  animated  discus- 
sion. When  at  last  the  company  began  to  dis- 
perse Martini  went  up  to  the  quiet  young  woman. 

"  I  will  see  you  home,  Gemma." 

"Thanks;  I  want  to  have  a  business  talk  with 
you." 

"  Anything  wrong  with  the  addresses? "  he 
asked  softly. 

"  Nothing  serious;  but  I  think  it  is  time  to  make 
a  few  alterations.  Two  letters  have  been  stopped 
in  the  post  this  week.  They  were  both  quite  un- 
important, and  it  may  have  been  accidental;  but 
we  cannot  afford  to  have  any  risks.  If  once  the 
police  have  begun  to  suspect  any  of  our  addresses, 
they  must  be  changed  immediately." 

"  I  will  come  in  about  that  to-morrow.  I  am 
not  going  to  talk  business  with  you  to-night; 
you  look  tired." 

"  I  am  not  tired." 

'  Then  you  are  depressed  again." 

"  Oh,  no;  not  particularly." 


THE  GADFLY.  105 


CHAPTER   II. 

"  Is  the  mistress  in,  Katie?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  she  is  dressing.  If  you'll  just  step 
into  the  parlour  she  will  be  down  in  a  few 
minutes." 

Katie  ushered  the  visitor  in  with  the  cheerful 
friendliness  of  a  true  Devonshire  girl.  Martini 
was  a  special  favourite  of  hers.  He  spoke  English, 
like  a  foreigner,  of  course,  but  still  quite  respecta- 
bly; and  he  never  sat  discussing  politics  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  till  one  in  the  morning,  when  the  mis- 
tress was  tired,  as  some  visitors  had  a  way  of 
doing.  Moreover,  he  had  come  to  Devonshire  to 
help  the  mistress  in  her  trouble,  when  her  baby 
was  dead  and  her  husband  dying  there;  and  ever 
since  that  time  the  big,  awkward,  silent  man  had 
been  to  Katie  as  much  "  one  of  the  family  "  as  was 
the  lazy  black  cat  which  now  ensconced  itself  upon 
his  knee.  Pasht,  for  his  part,  regarded  Martini 
as  a  useful  piece  of  household  furniture.  This 
visitor  never  trod  upon  his  tail,  or  puffed  tobacco 
smoke  into  his  eyes,  or  in  any  way  obtruded  upon 
his  consciousness  an  aggressive  biped  personality. 
He  behaved  as  a  mere  man  should:  provided  a 
comfortable  knee  to  lie  upon  and  purr,  and  at  table 
never  forgot  that  to  look  on  while  human  beings 
eat  fish  is  not  interesting  for  a  cat.  The  friend- 
ship between  them  was  of  old  date.  Once,  when 
Pasht  was  a  kitten  and  his  mistress  too  ill  to  think 
about  him,  he  had  come  from  England  under  Mar- 
tini's care,  tucked  away  in  a  basket.  Since  then, 
long  experience  had  convinced  him  that  this 
clumsy  human  bear  was  no  fair-weather  friend. 

"  How  snug  you  look,  you  two!  "  said  Gemma, 


106  THE  GADFLY. 

coming  into  the  room.  "  One  \vould  think  you 
had  settled  yourselves  for  the  evening." 

Martini  carefully  lifted  the  cat  off  his  knee.  "  I 
came  early,"  he  said,  "  in  the  hope  that  you  will 
give  me  some  tea  before  we  start.  There  will 
probably  be  a  frightful  crush,  and  Grassini  won't 
give  us  any  sensible  supper — they  never  do  in 
those  fashionable  houses." 

"Come  now!"  she  said,  laughing;  "that's  as 
bad  as  Galli!  Poor  Grassini  has  quite  enough  sins 
of  his  own  to  answer  for  without  having  his  wife's 
imperfect  housekeeping  visited  upon  his  head. 
As  for  the  tea,  it  will  be  ready  in  a  minute.  Katie 
has  been  making  some  Devonshire  cakes  specially 
for  you." 

"  Katie  is  a  good  soul,  isn't  she,  Pasht?  By  the 
way,  so  are  you  to  have  put  on  that  pretty  dress. 
I  was  afraid  you  would  forget." 

"  I  promised  you  I  would  wear  it,  though  it  is 
rather  warm  for  a  hot  evening  like  this." 

"  It  will  be  much  cooler  up  at  Fiesole;  and 
nothing  else  ever  suits  you  so  well  as  white  cash- 
mere. I  have  brought  you  some  flowers  to  wear 
with  it." 

"  Oh,  those  lovely  cluster  roses;  I  am  so  fond 
of  them!  But  they  had  much  better  go  into  water. 
I  hate  to  wear  flowers." 

"  Now  that's  one  of  your  superstitious  fancies." 

"  No,  it  isn't;  only  I  think  they  must  get  so 
bored,  spending  all  the  evening  pinned  to  such  a 
dull  companion." 

"  I  am  afraid  we  shall  all  be  bored  to-night.  The 
conversazione  will  be  dull  beyond  endurance." 

"Why?" 

"  Partly  because  everything  Grassini  touches 
becomes  as  dull  as  himself." 


THE  GADFLY.  107 

"  Now  don't  be  spiteful.  It  is  not  fair  when  we 
are  going  to  be  a  man's  guests." 

'  You  are  always  right,  Madonna.  Well  then, 
it  will  be  dull  because  half  the  interesting  people 
are  not  coming." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Out  of  town,  or  ill,  or  some- 
thing. Anyway,  there  will  be  two  or  three  ambas- 
sadors and  some  learned  Germans,  and  the  usual 
nondescript  crowd  of  tourists  and  Russian  princes 
and  literary  club  people,  and  a  few  French  officers; 
nobody  else  that  I  know  of — except,  of  course, 
the  new  satirist,  who  is  to  be  the  attraction  of  the 
evening." 

"  The  new  satirist?  What,  Rivarez?  But  I 
thought  Grassini  disapproved  of  him  so  strongly." 

'  Yes;  but  once  the  man  is  here  and  is  sure  to 
be  talked  about,  of  course  Grassini  wants  his  house 
to  be  the  first  place  where  the  new  lion  will  be  on 
show.  You  may  be  sure  Rivarez  has  heard  nothing 
of  Grassini's  disapproval.  He  may  have  guessed 
it,  though;  he's  sharp  enough." 

"  I  did  not  even  know  he  had  come." 

"  He  only  arrived  yesterday.  Here  comes  the 
tea.  No,  don't  get  up;  let  me  fetch  the  kettle." 

He  was  never  so  happy  as  in  this  little  study. 
Gemma's  friendship,  her  grave  unconsciousness  of 
the  charm  she  exercised  over  him,  her  frank  and 
simple  comradeship  were  the  brightest  things  for 
him  in  a  life  that  was  none  too  bright;  and  when- 
ever he  began  to  feel  more  than  usually  depressed 
he  would  come  in  here  after  business  hours  and 
sit  with  her,  generally  in  silence,  watching  her  as 
she  bent  over  her  needlework  or  poured  out  tea. 
She  never  questioned  him  about  his  troubles  or 
expressed  any  sympathy  in  words;  but  he  always 


io8  THE  GADFLY. 

went  away  stronger  and  calmer,  feeling,  as  he  put 
it  to  himself,  that  he  could  "  trudge  through 
another  fortnight  quite  respectably."  She  pos- 
sessed, without  knowing  it,  the  rare  gift  of  con- 
solation; and  when,  two  years  ago,  his  dearest 
friends  had  been  betrayed  in  Calabria  and  shot 
down  like  wolves,  her  steady  faith  had  been  per- 
haps the  thing  which  had  saved  him  from  despair. 

On  Sunday  mornings  he  sometimes  came  in  to 
"  talk  business,"  that  expression  standing  for  any- 
thing connected  with  the  practical  work  of  the 
Mazzinian  party,  of  which  they  both  were  active 
and  devoted  members.  She  was  quite  a  different 
creature  then;  keen,  cool,  and  logical,  perfectly 
accurate  and  perfectly  neutral.  Those  who  saw 
her  only  at  her  political  work  regarded  her  as  a 
trained  and  disciplined  conspirator,  trustworthy, 
courageous,  in  every  way  a  valuable  member  of 
the  party,  but  somehow  lacking  in  life  and  individ- 
uality. "  She's  a  born  conspirator,  worth  any 
dozen  of  us;  and  she  is  nothing  more,"  Galli  had 
said  of  her.  The  "  Madonna  Gemma "  whom 
Martini  knew  was  very  difficult  to  get  at. 

"  Well,  and  what  is  your  '  new  satirist  '  like?  " 
she  asked,  glancing  back  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
opened  the  sideboard.  '  There,  Cesare,  there  are 
barley-sugar  and  candied  angelica  for  you.  I  won- 
der, by  the  way,  why  revolutionary  men  are  always 
so  fond  of  sweets." 

"  Other  men  are,  too,  only  they  think  it  beneath 
their  dignity  to  confess  it.  The  new  satirist?  Oh, 
the  kind  of  man  that  ordinary  women  will  rave 
over  and  you  will  dislike.  A  sort  of  professional 
dealer  in  sharp  speeches,  that  goes  about  the  world 
with  a  lackadaisical  manner  and  a  handsome  ballet- 
girl  dangling  on  to  his  coat-tails." 


THE  GADFLY.  109 

"  Do  you  mean  that  there  is  really  a  ballet-girl, 
or  simply  that  you  feel  cross  and  want  to  imitate 
the  sharp  speeches?  " 

"The  Lord  defend  me!  No;  the  ballet-girl  is 
real  enough  and  handsome  enough,  too,  for  those 
who  like  shrewish  beauty.  Personally,  I  don't. 
She's  a  Hungarian  gipsy,  or  something  of  that 
kind,  so  Riccardo  says;  from  some  provincial 
theatre  in  Galicia.  He  seems  to  be  rather  a  cool 
hand;  he  has  been  introducing  the  girl  to  people 
just  as  if  she  were  his  maiden  aunt." 

"  Well,  that's  only  fair  if  he  has  taken  her  away 
from  her  home." 

"  You  may  look  at  things  that  way,  dear  Ma- 
donna, but  society  won't.  I  think  most  people 
will  very  much  resent  being  introduced  to  a  woman 
whom  they  know  to  be  his  mistress." 

"  How  can  they  know  it  unless  he  tells  them 
so?" 

"  It's  plain  enough;  you'll  see  if  you  meet  her. 
But  I  should  think  even  he  would  not  have  the 
audacity  to  bring  her  to  the  Grassinis'." 

"  They  wouldn't  receive  her.  Signora  Grassini 
is  not  the  woman  to  do  unconventional  things  of 
that  kind.  But  I  wanted  to  hear  about  Signor 
Rivarez  as  a  satirist,  not  as  a  man.  Fabrizi  told 
me  he  had  been  written  to  and  had  consented  to 
come  and  take  up  the  campaign  against  the 
Jesuits;  and  that  is  the  last  I  have  heard.  There 
has  been  such  a  rush  of  work  this  week." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell  you  much  more. 
There  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  any  difficulty 
over  the  money  question,  as  we  feared  there  would 
be.  He's  well  off,  it  appears,  and  willing  to  work 
for  nothing." 

"  Has  he  a  private  fortune,  then?  " 


no  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Apparently  he  has;  though  it  seems  rather 
odd — you  heard  that  night  at  Fabrizi's  about 
the  state  the  Duprez  expedition  found  him 
in.  But  he  has  got  shares  in  mines  somewhere 
out  in  Brazil;  and  then  he  has  been  immensely 
successful  as  a  feuilleton  writer  in  Paris  and 
Vienna  and  London.  He  seems  to  have  half  a 
dozen  languages  at  his  finger-tips;  and  there's 
nothing  to  prevent  his  keeping  up  his  newspaper 
connections  from  here.  Slanging  the  Jesuits 
won't  take  all  his  time." 

"  That's  true,  of  course.  It's  time  to  start, 
Cesare.  Yes,  I  will  wear  the  roses.  Wait  just  a 
minute." 

She  ran  upstairs,  and  came  back  with  the  roses 
in  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  and  a  long  scarf  of  black 
Spanish  lace  thrown  over  her  head.  Martini  sur- 
veyed her  with  artistic  approval. 

"  You  look  like  a  queen,  Madonna  mia;  like 
the  great  and  wise  Queen  of  Sheba." 

"What  an  unkind  speech!"  she  retorted, 
laughing;  "when  you  know  how  hard  I've  been 
trying  to  mould  myself  into  the  image  of  the  typi- 
cal society  lady!  Who  wants  a  conspirator  to 
look  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba?  That's  not  the 
way  to  keep  clear  of  spies." 

"  You'll  never  be  able  to  personate  the  stupid 
society  woman  if  you  try  for  ever.  But  it  doesn't 
matter,  after  all;  you're  too  fair  to  look  upon  for 
spies  to  guess  your  opinions,  even  though  you 
can't  simper  and  hide  behind  your  fan  like  Signora 
Grassini." 

"  Now  Cesare,  let  that  poor  woman  alone! 
There,  take  some  more  barley-sugar  to  sweeten 
your  temper.  Are  you  ready?  Then-  we  had 
better  start." 


THE  GADFLY.  in 

Martini  had  been  quite  right  in  saying  that  the 
conversazione  would  be  both  crowded  and  dull. 
The  literary  men  talked  polite  small-talk  and 
looked  hopelessly  bored,  while  the  "  nondescript 
crowd  of  tourists  and  Russian  princes  "  fluttered 
up  and  down  the  rooms,  asking  each  other  who 
were  the  various  celebrities  and  trying  to  carry  on 
intellectual  conversation.  Grassini  was  receiving 
his  guests  with  a  manner  as  carefully  polished  as 
his  boots;  but  his  cold  face  lighted  up  at  the  sight 
of  Gemma.  He  did  not  really  like  her  and  indeed 
was  secretly  a  little  afraid  of  her;  but  he  realized 
that  without  her  his  drawing  room  would  lack  a 
great  attraction.  He  had  risen  high  in  his  pro- 
fession, and  now  that  he  was  rich  and  well  known 
his  chief  ambition  was  to  make  of  his  house  a 
centre  of  liberal  and  intellectual  society.  He  was 
painfully  conscious  that  the  insignificant,  over- 
dressed little  woman  whom  in  his  youth  he  had 
made  the  mistake  of  marrying  was  not  fit,  with 
her  vapid  talk  and  faded  prettiness,  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  a  great  literary  salon.  When  he  could 
prevail  upon  Gemma  to  come  he  always  felt  that 
the  evening  would  be  a  success.  Her  quiet 
graciousness  of  manner  set  the  guests  at  their  ease, 
and  her  very  presence  seemed  to  lay  the  spectre 
of  vulgarity  which  always,  in  his  imagination, 
haunted  the  house. 

Signora  Grassini  greeted  Gemma  affectionately, 
exclaiming  in  a  loud  whisper:  "  How  charming 
you  look  to-night ! "  and  examining  the  white 
cashmere  with  viciously  critical  eyes.  She  hated 
her  visitor  rancourously,  for  the  very  things  for 
which  Martini  loved  her;  for  her  quiet  strength 
of  character;  for  her  grave,  sincere  directness; 
for  the  steady  balance  of  her  mind;  for  the  very 


H2  THE  GADFLY. 

expression  of  her  face.  And  when  Signora  Gras- 
sini  hated  a  woman,  she  showed  it  by  effusive  ten- 
derness. Gemma  took  the  compliments  and 
endearments  for  what  they  were  worth,  and 
troubled  her  head  no  more  about  them.  What 
is  called  "  going  into  society  "  was  in  her  eyes  one 
of  the  wearisome  and  rather  unpleasant  tasks 
which  a  conspirator  who  wishes  not  to  attract  the 
notice  of  spies  must  conscientiously  fulfil.  She 
classed  it  together  with  the  laborious  work  of 
writing  in  cipher;  and,  knowing  how  valuable  a 
practical  safeguard  against  suspicion  is  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  well-dressed  woman,  studied  the 
fashion-plates  as  carefully  as  she  did  the  keys  of 
her  ciphers. 

The  bored  and  melancholy  literary  lions  bright- 
ened up  a  little  at  the  sound  of  Gemma's  name; 
she  was  very  popular  among  them;  and  the  radical 
journalists,  especially,  gravitated  at  once  to  her 
end  of  the  long  room.  But  she  was  far  too  prac- 
tised a  conspirator  to  let  them  monopolize  her. 
Radicals  could  be  had  any  day;  and  now,  when 
they  came  crowding  round  her,  she  gently  sent 
them  about  their  business,  reminding  them  with  a 
smile  that  they  need  not  waste  their  time  on  con- 
verting her  when  there  were  so  many  tourists  in 
need  of  instruction.  For  her  part,  she  devoted 
herself  to  an  English  M.  P.  whose  sympathies  the 
republican  party  was  anxious  to  gain;  and,  know- 
ing him  to  be  a  specialist  on  finance,  she  first  won 
his  attention  by  asking  his  opinion  on  a  technical 
point  concerning  the  Austrian  currency,  and  then 
deftly  turned  the  conversation  to  the  condition  of 
the  Lombard o- Venetian  revenue.  The  English- 
man, who  had  expected  to  be  bored  with  small- 
talk,  looked  askance  at  her,  evidently  fearing  that 


THE  GADFLY.  113 

he  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  a  blue-stocking; 
but  finding  that  she  was  both  pleasant  to  look  at 
and  interesting  to  talk  to,  surrendered  completely 
and  plunged  into  as  grave  a  discussion  of  Italian 
finance  as  if  she  had  been  Metternich.  When 
Grassini  brought  up  a  Frenchman  "  who  wishes  to 
ask  Signora  Bolla  something  about  the  history  of 
Young  Italy,"  the  M.  P.  rose  with  a  bewildered 
sense  that  perhaps  there  was  more  ground  for 
Italian  discontent  than  he  had  supposed. 

Later  in  the  evening  Gemma  slipped  out  on  to 
the  terrace  under  the  drawing-room  windows  to 
sit  alone  for  a  few  moments  among  the  great 
camellias  and  oleanders.  The  close  air  and  con- 
tinually shifting  crowd  in  the  rooms  were  begin- 
ning to  give  her  a  headache.  At  the  further  end 
of  the  terrace  stood  a  row  of  palms  and  tree-ferns, 
planted  in  large  tubs  which  were  hidden  by  a  bank 
of  lilies  and  other  flowering  plants.  The  whole 
formed  a  complete  screen,  behind  which  was  a 
little  nook  commanding  a  beautiful  view  out 
across  the  valley.  The  branches  of  a  pomegranate 
tree,  clustered  with  late  blossoms,  hung  beside  the 
narrow  opening  between  the  plants. 

In  this  nook  Gemma  took  refuge,  hoping  that 
no  one  would  guess  her  whereabouts  until  she  had 
secured  herself  against  the  threatening  headache 
by  a  little  rest  and  silence.  The  night  was  warm 
and  beautifully  still;  but  coming  out  from  the 
hot,  close  rooms  she  felt  it  cool,  and  drew  her  lace 
scarf  about  her  head. 

Presently  the  sounds  of  voices  and  footsteps  ap- 
proaching along  the  terrace  roused  her  from  the 
dreamy  state  into  which  she  had  fallen.  She  drew 
back  into  the  shadow,  hoping  to  escape  notice  and 
get  a  few  more  precious  minutes  of  silence  before 


ii4  THE  GADFLY. 

again  having  to  rack  her  tired  brain  for  conversa- 
tion. To  her  great  annoyance  the  footsteps 
paused  near  to  the  screen;  then  Signora  Grassini's 
thin,  piping  little  voice  broke  off  for  a  moment  in 
its  stream  of  chatter. 

The  other  voice,  a  man's,  was  remarkably  soft 
and  musical;  but  its  sweetness  of  tone  was  marred 
by  a  peculiar,  purring  drawl,  perhaps  mere  affec- 
tation, more  probably  the  result  of  a  habitual 
effort  to  conquer  some  impediment  of  speech,  but 
in  any  case  very  unpleasant. 

"  English,  did  you  say? "  it  asked.  "  But 
surely  the  name  is  quite  Italian.  What  was  it— 
Bolla?  " 

"  Yes;  she  is  the  widow  of  poor  Giovanni  Bolla, 
who  died  in  England  about  four  years  ago, — 
don't  you  remember?  Ah,  I  forgot — you  lead 
such  a  wandering  life;  we  can't  expect  you  to 
know  of  all  our  unhappy  country's  martyrs — they 
are  so  many!  " 

Signora  Grassini  sighed.  She  always  talked  in 
this  style  to  strangers;  the  role  of  a  patriotic 
mourner  for  the  sorrows  of  Italy  formed  an  effec- 
tive combination  with  her  boarding-school  man- 
ner and  pretty  infantine  pout. 

"  Died  in  England!"  repeated  the  other  voice. 
"  Was  he  a  refugee,  then?  I  seem  to  recognize 
the  name,  somehow;  was  he  not  connected  with 
Young  Italy  in  its  early  days?  " 

"  Yes;  he  was  one  of  the  unfortunate  young 
men  who  were  arrested  in  '33 — you  remember 
that  sad  affair?  He  was  released  in  a  few  months; 
then,  two  or  three  years  later,  when  there  was  a 
warrant  out  against  him  again,  he  escaped  to 
England.  The  next  we  heard  was  that  he  was 


THE  GADFLY.  115 

* 

married  there.  It  was  a  most  romantic  affair  alto- 
gether, but  poor  Bolla  always  was  romantic." 

"  And  then  he  died  in  England,  you  say?  " 

'  Yes,  of  consumption;  he  could  not  stand  that 
terrible  English  climate.  And  she  lost  her  only 
child  just  before  his  death;  it  caught  scarlet  fever. 
Very  sad,  is  it  not?  And  we  are  all  so  fond  of 
dear  Gemma!  She  is  a  little  stiff,  poor  thing;  the 
English  always  are,  you  know;  but  I  think  her 
troubles  have  made  her  melancholy,  and " 

Gemma  stood  up  and  pushed  back  the  boughs 
of  the  pomegranate  tree.  This  retailing  of  her 
private  sorrows  for  purposes  of  small-talk  was 
almost  unbearable  to  her,  and  there  was  visible 
annoyance  in  her  face  as  she  stepped  into  the 
light. 

"  Ah!  here  she  is!  "  exclaimed  the  hostess,  with 
admirable  coolness.  "  Gemma,  dear,  I  was  won- 
dering where  you  could  have  disappeared  to. 
Signor  Felice  Rivarez  wishes  to  make  your 
acquaintance." 

"  So  it's  the  Gadfly,"  thought  Gemma,  looking 
at  him  with  some  curiosity.  He  bowed  to  her 
decorously  enough,  but  his  eyes  glanced  over  her 
face  and  figure  with  a  look  which  seemed  to 
her  insolently  keen  and  inquisitorial. 

"  You  have  found  a  d-d-delightful  little  nook 
here,"  he  remarked,  looking  at  the  thick  screen; 
"  and  w-w-what  a  charming  view!  " 

"  Yes;  it's  a  pretty  corner.  I  came  out  here  to 
get  some  air." 

"  It  seems  almost  ungrateful  to  the  good  God 
to  stay  indoors  on  such  a  lovely  night,"  said  the 
hostess,  raising  her  eyes  to  the  stars.  (She  had 
good  eyelashes  and  liked  to  show  them.)  "  Look, 


n6  THE  GADFLY. 

signore!  Would  not  our  sweet  Italy  be  heaven 
on  earth  if  only  she  were  free?  To  think  that  she 
should  be  a  bond-slave,  with  such  flowers  and  such 
skies!" 

"  And  such  patriotic  women!  "  the  Gadfly  mur- 
mured in  his  soft,  languid  drawl. 

Gemma  glanced  round  at  him  in  some  trepida- 
tion; his  impudence  was  too  glaring,  surely,  to 
deceive  anyone.  But  she  had  underrated  Signora 
Grassini's  appetite  for  compliments;  the  poor 
woman  cast  down  her  lashes  with  a  sigh. 

"  Ah,  signore,  it  is  so  little  that  a  woman  can 
do!  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  prove  my  right  to 
the  name  of  an  Italian — who  knows?  And  now 
I  must  go  back  to  my  social  duties;  the  French 
ambassador  has  begged  me  to  introduce  his  ward 
to  all  the  notabilities;  you  must  come  in  presently 
and  see  her.  She  is  a  most  charming  girl. 
Gemma,  dear,  I  brought  Signer  Rivarez  out  to 
show  him  our  beautiful  view;  I  must  leave  him 
under  your  care.  I  know  you  will  look  after  him 
and  introduce  him  to  everyone.  Ah!  there  is 
that  delightful  Russian  prince!  Have  you  met 
him?  They  say  he  is  a  great  favourite  of  the 
Emperor  Nicholas.  He  is  military  commander 
of  some  Polish  town  with  a  name  that  nobody  can 
pronounce.  Quelle  nuit  magnifique!  N'est-ce- 
pas,  mon  prince?  " 

She  fluttered  away,  chattering  volubly  to  a 
bull-necked  man  with  a  heavy  jaw  and  a  coat  glit- 
tering with  orders;  and  her  plaintive  dirges  for 
"  notre  malheureuse  patrie,"  interpolated  with 
"  charmant  "  and  "  mon  prince,"  died  away  along 
the  terrace. 

Gemma  stood  quite  still  beside  the  pome- 
granate tree.  She  was  sorry  for  the  poor,  silly 


THE  GADFLY.  117 

little  woman,  and  annoyed  at  the  Gadfly's  languid 
insolence.  He  was  watching  the  retreating 
figures  with  an  expression  of  face  that  angered 
her;  it  seemed  ungenerous  to  mock  at  such  piti- 
able creatures. 

"  There  go  Italian  and — Russian  patriotism," 
he  said,  turning  to  her  with  a  smile;  "  arm  in  arm 
and  mightily  pleased  with  each  other's  company. 
Which  do  you  prefer?  " 

She  frowned  slightly  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Of  c-course,"  he  went  on;  "  it's  all  a  question 
of  p-personal  taste;  but  I  think,  of  the  two,  I  like 
the  Russian  variety  best — it's  so  thorough.  If 
Russia  had  to  depend  on  flowers  and  skies  for  her 
supremacy  instead  of  on  powder  and  shot,  how 
long  do  you  think  '  mon  prince  '  would  k-keep 
that  Polish  fortress?  " 

"  I  think,"  she  answered  coldly,  "  that  we  can 
hold  our  personal  opinions  without  ridiculing  a 
woman  whose  guests  we  are." 

"Ah,  yes!  I  f-forgot  the  obligations  of  hospi- 
tality here  in  Italy;  they  are  a  wonderfully  hos- 
pitable people,  these  Italians.  I'm  sure  the 
Austrians  find  them  so.  Won't  you  sit  down?  " 

He  limped  across  the  terrace  to  fetch  a  chair 
for  her,  and  placed  himself  opposite  to  her,  lean- 
ing against  the  balustrade.  The  light  from  a 
window  was  shining  full  on  his  face;  and  she  was 
able  to  study  it  at  her  leisure. 

She  was  disappointed.  She  had  expected  to 
see  a  striking  and  powerful,  if  not  pleasant  face; 
but  the  most  salient  points  of  his  appearance  were 
a  tendency  to  foppishness  in  dress  and  rather  more 
than  a  tendency  to  a  certain  veiled  insolence  of 
expression  and  manner.  For  the  rest,  he  was  as 
swarthy  as  a  mulatto,  and,  notwithstanding  his 


n8  THE   GADFLY. 

lameness,  as  agile  as  a  cat.  His  whole  personality 
was  oddly  suggestive  of  a  black  jaguar.  The  fore- 
head and  left  cheek  were  terribly  disfigured  by 
the  long  crooked  scar  of  the  old  sabre-cut;  and 
she  had  already  noticed  that,  when  he  began  to 
stammer  in  speaking,  that  side  of  his  face  was 
affected  with  a  nervous  twitch.  But  for  these 
defects  he  would  have  been,  in  a  certain  restless 
and  uncomfortable  way,  rather  handsome;  but  it 
was  not  an  attractive  face. 

Presently  he  began  again  in  his  soft,  murmur- 
ing purr  ("  Just  the  voice  a  jaguar  would  talk  in, 
if  it  could  speak  and  were  in  a  good  humour," 
Gemma  said  to  herself  with  rising  irritation). 

"  I  hear,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  interested  in 
the  radical  press,  and  write  for  the  papers." 

"  I  write  a  little;  I  have  not  time  to  do  much." 

"Ah,  of  course!  I  understood  from  Signora 
Grassini  that  you  undertake  other  important 
work  as  well." 

Gemma  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly.  Signora 
Grassini,  like  the  silly  little  woman  she  was,  had 
evidently  been  chattering  imprudently  to  this 
slippery  creature,  whom  Gemma,  for  her  part,  was 
beginning  actually  to  dislike. 

"  My  time  is  a  good  deal  taken  up,"  she  said 
rather  stiffly;  "but  Signora  Grassini  overrates 
the  importance  of  my  occupations.  They  are 
mostly  of  a  very  trivial  character." 

"  Well,  the  world  would  be  in  a  bad  way  if  we 
all  of  us  spent  our  time  in  chanting  dirges  ior 
Italy.  I  should  think  the  neighbourhood  of  our 
host  of  this  evening  and  his  wife  would  make  any- 
body frivolous,  in  self-defence.  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
what  you're  going  to  say;  you  are  perfectly  right, 
but  they  are  both  so  deliciously  funny  with  their 


THE  GADFLY. 


119 


patriotism. — Are  you  going  in  already?  It  is  so 
nice  out  here!" 

"  I  think  I  will  go  in  now.  Is  that  my  scarf? 
Thank  you." 

He  had  picked  it  up,  and  now  stood  looking  at 
her  with  wide  eyes  as  blue  and  innocent  as  forget- 
me-nots  in  a  brook. 

"  I  know  you  are  offended  with  me,"  he  said 
penitently,  "  for  fooling  that  painted-up  wax  doil; 
but  what  can  a  fellow  do?  " 

"  Since  you  ask  me,  I  do  think  it  an  ungenerous 
and — well — cowardly  thing  to  hold  one's  intel- 
lectual inferiors  up  to  ridicule  in  that  way;  it  is 
like  laughing  at  a  cripple,  or " 

He  caught  his  breath  suddenly,  painfully;  and 
shrank  back,  glancing  at  his  lame  foot  and  muti- 
lated hand.  In  another  instant  he  recovered  his 
self-possession  and  burst  out  laughing. 

'  That's  hardly  a  fair  comparison,  signora;  we 
cripples  don't  flaunt  our  deformities  in  people's 
faces  as  she  does  her  stupidity.  At  least  give  us 
credit  for  recognizing  that  crooked  backs  are  no 
pleasanter  than  crooked  ways.  There  is  a  step 
here;  will  you  take  my  arm?  " 

She  re-entered  the  house  in  embarrassed  silence; 
his  unexpected  sensitiveness  had  completely  dis- 
concerted her. 

Directly  he  opened  the  door  of  the  great  recep- 
tion room  she  realized  that  something  unusual 
had  happened  in  her  absence.  Most  of  the  gen- 
tlemen looked  both  angry  and  uncomfortable; 
the  ladies,  with  hot  cheeks  and  carefully  feigned 
unconsciousness,  were  all  collected  at  one  end  of 
the  room;  the  host  was  fingering  his  eye-glasses 
with  suppressed  but  unmistakable  fury,  and  a  little 
group  of  tourists  stood  in  a  corner  casting  amused 


120  THE  GADFLY. 

glances  at  the  further  end  of  the  room.  Evi- 
dently something  was  going  on  there  which  ap- 
peared to  them  in  the  light  of  a  joke,  and  to  most 
of  the  guests  in  that  of  an  insult.  Signora  Gras- 
sini  alone  did  not  appear  to  have  noticed  any- 
thing; she  was  fluttering  her  fan  coquettishly 
and  chattering  to  the  secretary  of  the  Dutch 
embassy,  who  listened  with  a  broad  grin  on  his 
face. 

Gemma  paused  an  instant  in  the  doorway,  turn- 
ing to  see  if  the  Gadfly,  too,  had  noticed  the  dis- 
turbed appearance  of  the  company.  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  malicious  triumph  in  his  eyes  as 
he  glanced  from  the  face  of  the  blissfully  uncon- 
scious hostess  to  a  sofa  at  the  end  of  the  room. 
She  understood  at  once;  he  had  brought  his  mis- 
tress here  under  some  false  colour,  which  had 
deceived  no  one  but  Signora  Grassini. 

The  gipsy-girl  was  leaning  back  on  the  sofa, 
surrounded  by  a  group  of  simpering  dandies  and 
blandly  ironical  cavalry  officers.  She  was  gor- 
geously dressed  in  amber  and  scarlet,  with  an 
Oriental  brilliancy  of  tint  and  profusion  of  orna- 
ment as  startling  in  a  Florentine  literary  salon 
as  if  she  had  been  some  tropical  bird  among 
sparrows  and  starlings.  She  herself  seemed  to 
feel  out  of  place,  and  looked  at  the  offended 
ladies  with  a  fiercely  contemptuous  scowl.  Catch- 
"ing  sight  of  the  Gadfly  as  he  crossed  the  room 
with  Gemma,  she  sprang  up  and  came  towards 
him,  with  a  voluble  flood  of  painfully  incorrect 
French. 

"  M.  Rivarez,  I  have  been  looking  for  you  every- 
where! Count  Saltykov  wants  to  know  whether 
you  can  go  to  his  villa  to-morrow  night.  There 
will  be  dancing." 


THE  GADFLY.  121 

"  I  am  sorry  I  can't  go;  but  then  I  couldn't 
dance  if  I  did.  Signora  Bolla,  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce to  you  Mme.  Zita  Reni." 

The  gipsy  glanced  round  at  Gemma  with  a  half 
defiant  air  and  bowed  stiffly.  She  was  certainly 
handsome  enough,  as  Martini  had  said,  with  a 
vivid,  animal,  unintelligent  beauty;  and  the  per- 
fect harmony  and  freedom  of  her  movements  were 
delightful  to  see;  but  her  forehead  was  low  and 
narrow,  and  the  line  of  her  delicate  nostrils  was 
unsympathetic,  almost  cruel.  The  sense  of 
oppression  which  Gemma  had  felt  in  the  Gadfly's 
society  was  intensified  by  the  gypsy's  presence; 
and  when,  a  moment  later,  the  host  came  up  to 
beg  Signora  Bolla  to  help  him  entertain  some 
tourists  in  the  other  room,  she  consented  with  an 
odd  feeling  of  relief. 

"  Well,  Madonna,  and  what  do  you  think  of  the 
Gadfly? "  Martini  asked  as  they  drove  back  to 
Florence  late  at  night.  "  Did  you  ever  see  any- 
thing quite  so  shameless  as  the  way  he  fooled  that 
poor  little  Grassini  woman?  " 

"  About  the  ballet-girl,  you  'mean?  " 

"  Yes,  he  persuaded  her  the  girl  was  going  to 
be  the  lion  of  the  season.  Signora  Grassini  would 
do  anything  for  a  celebrity." 

"  I  thought  it  an  unfair  and  unkind  thing  to 
do;  it  put  the  Grassinis  into  a  false  position;  and 
it  was  nothing  less  than  cruel  to  the  girl  herself. 
I  am  sure  she  felt  ill  at  ease." 

"  You  had  a  talk  with  him,  didn't  you?  What 
did  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  Oh,  Cesare,  I  didn't  think  anything  except 
how  glad  I  was  to  see  the  last  of  him.  I  never 
met  anyone  so  fearfully  tiring.  He  gave  me  a 


122  THE  GADFLY. 

headache  in  ten  minutes.     He  is  like  an  incarnate 
demon  of  unrest." 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  like  him;  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  no  more  do  I.  The  man's  as  slippery 
as  an  eel;  I  don't  trust  him." 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  Gadfly  took  lodgings  outside  the  Roman 
gate,  near  to  which  Zita  was  boarding.  He  was 
evidently  somewhat  of  a  sybarite;  and,  though 
nothing  in  the  rooms  showed  any  serious  extrava- 
gance, there  was  a  tendency  to  luxuriousness  in 
trifles  and  to  a  certain  fastidious  daintiness  in  the 
arrangement  of  everything  which  surprised  Galli 
and  Riccardo.  They  had  expected  to  find  a  man 
who  had  lived  among  the  wildernesses  of  the  Ama- 
zon more  simple  in  his  tastes,  and  wondered  at  his 
spotless  ties  and  rows  of  boots,  and  at  the  masses 
of  flowers  which  always  stood  upon  his  writing 
table.  On  the  whole  they  got  on  very  well  with 
him.  He  was  hospitable  and  friendly  to  everyone, 
especially  to  the  local  members  of  the  Mszzinian 
party.  To  this  rule  Gemma,  apparently,  formed 
an  exception;  he  seemed  to  have  taken  a  dislike  to 
her  from  the  time  of  their  first  meeting,  and  in 
every  way  avoided  her  company.  On  two  or  three 
occasions  he  was  actually  rude  to  her,  thus  bring- 
ing upon  himself  Martini's  most  cordial  detesta- 
tion. There  had  been  no  love  lost  between  the 
two  men  from  the  beginning;  their  temperaments 
appeared  to  be  too  incompatible  for  them  to  feel 
anything  but  repugnance  for  each  other.  On 
Martini's  part  this  was  fast  developing  into 
hostility. 


THE  GADFLY.  123 

"  I  don't  care  about  his  not  liking  me,"  he  said 
one  day  to  Gemma  with  an  aggrieved  air.  "  I 
don't  like  him,  for  that  matter;  so  there's  no  harm 
done.  But  I  can't  stand  the  way  he  behaves  to 
you.  If  it  weren't  for  the  scandal  it  would  make 
in  the  party  first  to  beg  a  man  to  come  and  then 
to  quarrel  with  him,  I  should  call  him  to  account 
for  it." 

"  Let  him  alone,  Cesare;  it  isn't  of  any  conse- 
quence, and  after  all,  it's  as  much  my  fault  as  his." 

"What  is  your  fault?" 

"  That  he  dislikes  me  so.  I  said  a  brutal  thing 
to  him  when  we  first  met,  that  night  at  the 
Grassinis'." 

"  You  said  a  brutal  thing?  That's  hard  to  be- 
lieve, Madonna." 

"  It  was  unintentional,  of  course,  and  I  was  very 
sorry.  I  said  something  about  people  laughing  at 
cripples,  and  he  took  it  personally.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  me  to  think  of  him  as  a  cripple;  he  is 
not  so  badly  deformed." 

"  Of  course  not.  He  has  one  shoulder  higher 
than  the  other,  and  his  left  arm  is  pretty  badly  dis- 
abled, but  he's  neither  hunchbacked  nor  club- 
footed.  As  for  his  lameness,  it  isn't  worth  talking 
about." 

"  Anyway,  he  shivered  all  over  and  changed 
colour.  Of  course  it  was  horribly  tactless  of  me, 
but  it's  odd  he  should  be  so  sensitive.  I  wonder 
if  he  has  ever  suffered  from  any  cruel  jokes  of  that 
kind." 

"  Much  more  likely  to  have  perpetrated  them,  I 
should  think.  There's  a  sort  of  internal  brutality 
about  that  man,  under  all  his  fine  manners,  that 
is  perfectly  sickening  to  me." 

"  Now,    Cesare,    that's    downright    unfair.     I 


i24  THE  GADFLY. 

don't  like  him  any  more  than  you  do,  but  what  is 
the  use  of  making  him  out  worse  than  he  is?  His 
manner  is  a  little  affected  and  irritating — I  expect 
he  has  been  too  much  lionized — and  the  everlast- 
ing smart  speeches  are  dreadfully  tiring;  but  I 
don't  believe  he  means  any  harm." 

"  I  don't  know  \vhat  he  means,  but  there's  some- 
thing not  clean  about  a  man  who  sneers  at  every- 
thing. It  fairly  disgusted  me  the  other  day  at 
Fabrizi's  debate  to  hear  the  way  he  cried  down 
the  reforms  in  Rome,  just  as  if  he  wanted  to  find 
a  foul  motive  for  everything." 

Gemma  sighed.  "  I  am  afraid  I  agreed  better 
with  him  than  with  you  on  that  point,"  she  said. 
"  All  you  good  people  are  so  full  of  the  most  de- 
lightful hopes  and  expectations;  you  are  always 
ready  to  think  that  if  one  well-meaning  middle- 
aged  gentleman  happens  to  get  elected  Pope, 
everything  else  will  come  right  of  itself.  He  has 
only  got  to  throw  open  the  prison  doors  and  give 
his  blessing  to  even-body  all  round,  and  we  may 
expect  the  millennium  within  three  months.  You 
never  seem  able  to  see  that  he  can't  set  things 
right  even  if  he  would.  It's  the  principle  of  the 
thing  that's  wrong,  not  the  behaviour  of  this  man 
or  that." 

"What  principle?  The  temporal  power  of  the 
Pope? " 

"  Why  that  in  particular?  That's  merely  a  part 
of  the  general  wrong.  The  bad  principle  is  that 
any  man  should  hold  over  another  the  power  to 
bind  and  loose.  It's  a  false  relationship  to  stand 
in  towards  one's  fellows." 

Martini  held  up  his  hands.  "  That  will  do,  Ma- 
donna," he  said,  laughing.  "  I  am  not  going  to 
discuss  with  you,  once  you  begin  talking  rank 


THE  GADFLY.  125 

Antinomianism  in  that  fashion.  I'm  sure  your 
ancestors  must  have  been  English  Levellers  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  Besides,  what  I  came  round 
about  is  this  MS." 

He  pulled  it  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  Another  new  pamphlet?  " 

"  A  stupid  thing  this  wretched  man  Rivarez 
sent  in  to  yesterday's  committee.  I  knew  we 
should  come  to  loggerheads  with  him  before 
long." 

'What  is  the  matter  with  it?  Honestly, 
Cesare,  I  think  you  are  a  little  prejudiced.  Riva- 
rez may  be  unpleasant,  but  he's  not  stupid." 

"Oh,  I  don't  deny  that  this  is  clever  enough  in 
its  way;  but  you  had  better  read  the  thing 
yourself." 

The  pamphlet  was  a  skit  on  the  wild  enthusiasm 
over  the  new  Pope  with  which  Italy  was  still 
ri ngfing.  Like  all  the  Gadfly's  writing,  it  was 
bitter  and  vindictive;  but,  notwithstanding  her 
irritation  at  the  style,  Gemma  could  not  help 
recognizing  in  her  heart  the  justice  of  the  criticism. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  it  is  detestably 
malicious,"  she  said,  laying  down  the  manuscript. 
"  But  the  worst  thing  about  it  is  that  it's  all  true." 

"Gemma!" 

"  Yes,  but  it  is.  The  man's  a  cold-blooded  eel, 
if  you  like;  but  he's  got  the  truth  on  his  side. 
There  is  no  use  in  our  trying  to  persuade  ourselves 
that  this  doesn't  hit  the  mark — it  does!  " 

"  Then  do  you  suggest  that  we  should  print  it?  " 

"Ah!  that's  quite  another  matter.  I  certainly 
don't  think  we  ought  to  print  it  as  it  stands;  it 
would  hurt  and  alienate  everybody  and  do  no 
good.  But  if  he  would  rewrite  it  and  cut  out  the 
personal  attacks,  I  think  it  might  be  made  into  a 


ia6  THE  GADFLY. 

really  valuable  piece  of  work.  As  political  criti- 
cism it  is  very  line.  I  had  no  idea  he  could  write 
so  well.  He  says  things  which  need  saying  and 
which  none  of  us  have  had  the  courage  to  say. 
This  passage,  where  he  compares  Italy  to  a  tipsy 
man  weeping  with  tenderness  on  the  neck  of  the 
thief  who  is  picking  his  pocket,  is  splendidly 
written." 

"  Gemma!  The  very  worst  bit  in  the  whole 
thing!  I  hate  that  ill-natured  yelping  at  every- 
thing and  everybody!  " 

"So  do  I;  but  that's  not  the  point.  Rivarez 
has  a  very  disagreeable  style,  and  as  a  human  being 
he  is  not  attractive;  but  when  he  says  that  we  have 
made  ourselves  drunk  with  processions  and  em- 
bracing and  shouting  about  love  and  reconcilia- 
tion, and  that  the  Jesuits  and  Sanfedists  are  the 
people  who  will  profit  by  it  all,  he's  right  a  thou- 
sand times.  I  wish  I  could  have  been  at  the  com- 
mittee yesterday.  What  decision  did  you  finally 
arrive  at?  " 

"  What  I  have  come  here  about :  to  ask  you  to 
go  and  talk  it  over  with  him  and  persuade  him  to 
soften  the  thing." 

"  Me?  But  I  hardly  know  the  man;  and  besides 
that,  he  detests  me.  Why  should  I  go,  of  all 
people?  " 

"  Simply  because  there's  no  one  else  to  do  it 
to-day.  Besides,  you  are  more  reasonable  than 
the  rest  of  us.  and  won't  get  into  useless  argu- 
ments and  quarrel  with  him,  as  we  should." 

''  I  shan't  do  that,  certainly.  Well,  I  will  go  if 
you  like,  though  I  have  not  much  hope  of  success." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  able  to  manage  him  if 
you  try.  Yes,  and  tell  him  that  the  committee 
all  admired  the  thing  from  a  literary  point  of  view. 


THE  GADFLY.  127 

That  will  put  him  into  a  good  humour,  and  it's  per- 
fectly true,  too." 

The  Gadfly  was  sitting  beside  a  table  covered 
with  flowers  and  ferns,  staring  absently  at  the 
floor,  with  an  open  letter  on  his  knee.  A  shaggy 
collie  dog,  lying  on  a  rug  at  his  feet,  raised  its 
head  and  growled  as  Gemma  knocked  at  the  open 
door,  and  the  Gadfly  rose  hastily  and  bowed  in  a 
stiff,  ceremonious  way.  His  face  had  suddenly 
grown  hard  and  expressionless. 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  he  said  in  his  most  chilling 
manner.  "  If  you  had  let  me  know  that  you 
wanted  to  speak  to  me  I  would  have  called  on 
you." 

Seeing  that  he  evidently  wished  her  at  the  end 
of  the  earth,  Gemma  hastened  to  state  her  busi- 
ness. He  bowed  again  and  placed  a  chair  for  her. 

"  The  committee  wished  me  to  call  upon  you," 
she  began,  "  because  there  has  been  a  certain  dif- 
ference of  opinion  about  your  pamphlet." 

"  So  I  expected."  He  smiled  and  sat  down 
opposite  to  her,  drawing  a  large  vase  of  chrysan- 
themums between  his  face  and  the  light. 

"  Most  of  the  members  agreed  that,  however 
much  they  may  admire  the  pamphlet  as  a  literary 
composition,  they  do  not  think  that  in  its  present 
form  it  is  quite  suitable  for  publication.  They  fear 
that  the  vehemence  of  its  tone  may  give  offence, 
and  alienate  persons  whose  help  and  support  are 
valuable  to  the  party." 

He  pulled  a  chrysanthemum  from  the  vase  and 
began  slowly  plucking  off  one  white  petal  after 
another.  As  her  eyes  happened  to  catch  the 
movement  of  the  slim  right  hand  dropping  the 
petals,  one  by  one,  an  uncomfortable  sensation 


t2S  THE  GADFLY. 

came  over  Gemma,  as  though  she  had  somewhere 
seen  that  gesture  before. 

"  As  a  literary  composition,"  he  remarked  in 
his  soft,  cold  voice,  "  it  is  utterly  worthless,  and 
could  be  admired  only  by  persons  who  know  noth- 
ing about  literature.  As  for  its  giving  offence, 
that  is  the  very  thing  I  intended  it  to  do." 

"  That  I  quite  understand.  The  question  is 
whether  you  may  not  succeed  in  giving  offence  to 
the  wrong  people." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  put  a  torn-off 
petal  between  his  teeth.  "  I  think  you  are  mis- 
taken," he  said.  "  The  question  is:  For  what  pur- 
pose did  your  committee  invite  me  to  come  here? 
I  understood,  to  expose  and  ridicule  the  Jesuits. 
I  fulfil  my  obligation  to  the  best  of  my  ability." 

"  And  I  can  assure  you  that  no  one  has  any 
doubt  as  to  either  the  ability  or  the  good-will. 
What  the  committee  fears  is  that  the  liberal  party 
may  take  offence,  and  also  that  the  town  workmen 
may  withdraw  their  moral  support.  You  may  have 
meant  the  pamphlet  for  an  attack  upon  the  San- 
fedists;  but  many  readers  will  construe  it  as  an 
attack  upon  the  Church  and  the  new  Pope;  and 
this,  as  a  matter  of  political  tactics,  the  commit- 
tee does  not  consider  desirable." 

"  I  begin  lo  understand.  So  long  as  I  keep  to 
the  particular  set  of  clerical  gentlemen  with  whom 
the  party  is  just  now  on  bad  terms,  I  may  speak 
sooth  if  the  fancy  takes  me;  but  directly  I  touch 
upon  the  committee's  own  pet  priests — '  truth's  a 
dog  must  to  kennel;  he  must  be  whipped  out, 
when  the — Holy  Father  may  stand  by  the  fire 

and Yes,  the  fool  was  right;  I'd  rather  be 

any  kind  of  a  thing  than  a  fool.  Of  course  I 
must  bow  to  the  committee's  decision,  but  I 


THE  GADFLY.  129 

continue  to  think  that  it  has  pared  its  wit  o'  both 
sides  and  left — M-mon-signor  M-m-montan-n-nelli 
in  the  middle." 

''  Montanelli?  "  Gemma  repeated.  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand you.  Do  you  mean  the  Bishop  of 
Brisighella?  " 

'  Yes;  the  new  Pope  has  just  created  him  a 
Cardinal,  you  know.  I  have  a  letter  about  him 
here.  Would  you  care  to  hear  it?  The  writer  is 
a  friend  of  mine  on  the  other  side  of  the  frontier." 

"  The  Papal  frontier?  " 

"  Yes.  This  is  what  he  writes "  He  took 

up  the  letter  which  had  been  in  his  hand  when  she 
entered,  and  read  aloud,  suddenly  beginning  to 
stammer  violently: 

" '  Y-o-you  will  s-s-s-soon  have  the  p-pleas- 
ure  of  m-m-meeting  one  of  our  w-w-worst  ene- 
mies, C-cardinal  Lorenzo  M-montan-n-nelli,  the 
B-b-bishop  of  Brisig-g-hella.  He  int-t ' ' 

He  broke  off,  paused  a  moment,  and  began 
again,  very  slowly  and  drawling  insufferably,  but 
no  longer  stammering: 

"  '  He  intends  to  visit  Tuscany  during  the  com- 
ing month  on  a  mission  of  reconciliation.  He  will 
preach  first  in  Florence,  where  he  will  stay  for 
about  three  weeks;  then  will  go  on  to  Siena  and 
Pisa,  and  return  to  the  Romagna  by  Pistoja.  He 
ostensibly  belongs  to  the  liberal  party  in  the 
Church,  and  is  a  personal  friend  of  the  Pope  and 
Cardinal  Feretti.  Under  Gregory  he  was  out  of 
favour,  and  was  kept  out  of  sight  in  a  little  hole 
in  the  Apennines.  Now  he  has  come  suddenly  to 
the  front.  Really,  of  course,  he  is  as  much  pulled 
by  Jesuit  wires  as  any  Sanfedist  in  the  country. 
This  mission  was  suggested  by  some  of  the  Jesuit 
fathers.  He  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  preachers 


130  THE  GADFLY. 

in  the  Church,  and  as  mischievous  in  his  way  as 
Lambruschini  himself.  His  business  is  to  keep 
the  popular  enthusiasm  over  the  Pope  from  sub- 
siding, and  to  occupy  the  public  attention  until 
the  Grand  Duke  has  signed  a  project  which  the 
agents  of  the  Jesuits  are  preparing  to  lay  before 
him.  What  this  project  is  I  have  been  unable  to 
discover.'  Then,  further  on,  it  says:  '  Whether 
Montanelli  understands  for  what  purpose  he  is 
being  sent  to  Tuscany,  or  whether  the  Jesuits  are 
playing  on  him,  I  cannot  make  out.  He  is  either 
an  uncommonly  clever  knave,  or  the  biggest  ass 
that  was  ever  foaled.  The  odd  thing  is  that,  so 
far  as  I  can  discover,  he  neither  takes  bribes  nor 
keeps  mistresses — the  first  time  I  ever  came 
across  such  a  thing.'  ' 

He  laid  down  the  letter  and  sat  looking  at  her 
with  half-shut  eyes,  waiting,  apparently,  for  her  to 
speak. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  that  your  informant  is  cor- 
rect in  his  facts?  "  she  asked  after  a  moment. 

"  As  to  the  irreproachable  character  of  Mon- 
signor  M-mon-t-tan-nelli's  private  life?  No;  but 
neither  is  he.  As  you  will  observe,  he  puts  in  the 
s-s-saving  clause:  '  So  far  as  I  c-can  discover ' ' 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  that,"  she  interposed 
coldly,  "  but  of  the  part  about  this  mission." 

"  I  can  fully  trust  the  writer.  He  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine — one  of  my  comrades  of  '43,  and  he 
is  in  a  position  which  gives  him  exceptional 
opportunities  for  finding  out  things  of  that  kind." 

"  Some  official  at  the  Vatican,"  thought  Gemma 
quickly.  "  So  that's  the  kind  of  connections  you 
have?  I  guessed  there  was  something  of  that 
sort." 

"  This  letter  is,  of  course,  a  private  one,"  the 


THE  GADFLY. 


13* 


Gadfly  went  on;  "and  you  understand  that  the 
information  is  to  be  kept  strictly  to  the  members 
of  your  committee." 

"  That  hardly  needs  saying.  Then  about  the 
pamphlet:  may  I  tell  the  committee  that  you  con- 
sent to  make  a  few  alterations  and  soften  it  a  little, 
or  that " 

"  Don't  you  think  the  alterations  may  succeed 
in  spoiling  the  beauty  of  the  '  literary  compo- 
sition,' signora,  as  well  as  in  reducing  the  vehe- 
mence of  the  tone?  " 

"  You  are  asking  my  personal  opinion.  What 
I  have  come  here  to  express  is  that  of  the  com- 
mittee as  a  whole." 

"  Does  that  imply  that  y-y-you  disagree  with  the 
committee  as  a  whole?  "  He  had  put  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  and  was  now  leaning  forward  and 
looking  at  her  with  an  eager,  concentrated  ex- 
pression which  quite  changed  the  character  of  his 
face.  "  You  think " 

"  If  you  care  to  know  what  I  personally  think 
— I  disagree  with  the  majority  on  both  points.  I 
do  not  at  all  admire  the  pamphlet  from  a  literary 
point  of  view,  and  I  do  think  it  true  as  a  presenta- 
tion of  facts  and  wise  as  a  matter  of  tactics." 

«  That  is " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  Italy  is  being  led 
away  by  a  will-o'-the-wisp  and  that  all  this  en- 
thusiasm and  rejoicing  will  probably  land  her  in  a 
terrible  bog;  and  I  should  be  most  heartily  glad 
to  have  that  openly  and  boldly  said,  even  at  the 
cost  of  offending  or  alienating  some  of  our  present 
supporters.  But  as  a  member  of  a  body  the  large 
majority  of  which  holds  the  opposite  view,  I  can- 
not insist  upon  my  personal  opinion;  and  I  cer- 
tainly think  that  if  things  of  that  kind  are  to  be 


*32  THE  GADFLY. 

said  at  all,  they  should  be  said  temperately  and 
quietly;  not  in  the  tone  adopted  in  this  pamphlet." 

"  Will  you  wait  a  minute  while  I  look  through 
the  manuscript?  " 

He  took  it  up  and  glanced  down  the  pages.  A 
dissatisfied  frown  settled  on  his  face. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  you  are  perfectly  right.  The 
thing's  written  like  a  cafe  chant  ant  skit,  not  a 
political  satire.  But  what's  a  man  to  do?  If  I 
write  decently  the  public  won't  understand  it; 
they  will  say  it's  dull  if  it  isn't  spiteful  enough." 

"  Don't  you  think  spitefulness  manages  to  be 
dull  when  we  get  too  much  of  it?  " 

He  threw  a  keen,  rapid  glance  at  her,  and  burst 
out  laughing. 

"  Apparently  the  signora  belongs  to  the  dread- 
ful category  of  people  who  are  always  right! 
Then  if  I  yield  to  the  temptation  to  be  spiteful,  I 
may  come  in  time  to  be  as  dull  as  Signora  Gras- 
sini?  Heavens,  what  a  fate!  No,  you  needn't 
frown.  I  know  you  don't  like  me,  and  I  am  go- 
ing to  keep  to  business.  What  it  comes  to,  then, 
is  practically  this:  if  I  cut  out  the  personalities  and 
leave  the  essential  part  of  the  thing  as  it  is,  the 
committee  will  very  much  regret  that  they  can't 
take  the  responsibility  of  printing  it.  If  I  cut  out 
the  political  truth  and  make  all  the  hard  names 
apply  to  no  one  but  the  party's  enemies,  the  com- 
mittee will  praise  the  thing  up  to  the  skies,  and 
you  and  I  will  know  it's  not  worth  printing. 
Rather  a  nice  point  of  metaphysics:  Which  is  the 
more  desirable  condition,  to  be  printed  and  not  be 
worth  it,  or  to  be  worth  it  and  not  be  printed? 
Well,  signora?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  you  are  tied  to  any  such  alterna- 
tive. I  believe  that  if  you  were  to  cut  out  the 


THE  GADFLY.  133 

personalities  the  committee  would  consent  to 
print  the  pamphlet,  though  the  majority  would, 
of  course,  not  agree  with  it;  and  I  am  convinced 
that  it  would  be  very  useful.  But  you  would  have 
to  lay  aside  the  spitefulness.  If  you  are  going  to 
say  a  thing  the  substance  of  which  is  a  big  pill  for 
your  readers  to  swallow,  there  is  no  use  in  fright- 
ening them  at  the  beginning  by  the  form." 

He  sighed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  resign- 
edly. "  I  submit,  signora;  but  on  one  condition. 
If  you  rob  me  of  my  laugh  now,  I  must  have  it 
out  next  time.  When  His  Eminence,  the  irre- 
proachable Cardinal,  turns  up  in  Florence,  neither 
you  nor  your  committee  must  object  to  my  being 
as  spiteful  as  I  like.  It's  my  due!  " 

He  spoke  in  his  lightest,  coldest  manner,  pull- 
ing the  chrysanthemums  out  of  their  vase  and 
holding  them  up  to  watch  the  light  through  the 
translucent  petals.  "  What  an  unsteady  hand  he 
has,"  she  thought,  seeing  how  the  flowers  shook 
and  quivered.  "  Surely  he  doesn't  drink!  " 

"  You  had  better  discuss  the  matter  with  the 
other  members  of  the  committee,"  she  said,  rising. 
"  I  cannot  form  any  opinion  as  to  what  they  will 
think  about  it." 

"And  you?  "  He  had  risen  too,  and  was  lean- 
ing against  the  table,  pressing  the  flowers  to  his 
face. 

She  hesitated.  The  question  distressed  her, 
bringing  up  old  and  miserable  associations.  "  I 
— hardly  know,"  she  said  at  last.  "  Many  years 
ago  I  used  to  know  something  about  Monsignor 
Montanelli.  He  was  only  a  canon  at  that  time, 
and  Director  of  the  theological  seminary  in  the 
province  where  I  lived  as  a  girl.  I  heard  a  great 
deal  about  him  from — someone  who  knew  him 


134  THE  GADFLY. 

very  intimately;  and  I  never  heard  anything  of  him 
that  was  not  good.  I  believe  that,  in  those  days 
at  least,  he  was  really  a  most  remarkable  man. 
But  that  was  long  ago,  and  he  may  have  changed. 
Irresponsible  power  corrupts  so  many  people." 

The  Gadfly  raised  his  head  from  the  flowers,  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  steady  face. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  said,  "  if  Monsignor  Monta- 
nelli  is  not  himself  a  scoundrel,  he  is  a  tool  in 
scoundrelly  hands.  It  is  all  one  to  me  which  he 
is — and  to  my  friends  across  the  frontier.  A  stone 
in  the  path  may  have  the  best  intentions,  but  it 
must  be  kicked  out  of  the  path,  for  all  that. 
Allow  me,  signora!  "  He  rang  the  bell,  and,  limp- 
ing to  the  door,  opened  it  for  her  to  pass  out. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  call,  signora.  May 
I  send  for  a  vettura?  No?  Good-afternoon,  then! 
Bianca,  open  the  hall-door,  please." 

Gemma  went  out  into  the  street,  pondering 
anxiously.  "  My  friends  across  the  frontier  " — 
who  were  they?  And  how  was  the  stone  to  be 
kicked  out  of  the  path?  If  with  satire  only,  why 
had  he  said  it  with  such  dangerous  eyes? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MONSIGNOR  MONTANELLI  arrived  in  Florence 
in  the  first  week  of  October.  His  visit  caused  a 
little  flutter  of  excitement  throughout  the  town. 
He  was  a  famous  preacher  and  a  representative  of 
the  reformed  Papacy;  and  people  looked  eagerly 
to  him  for  an  exposition  of  the  "  new  doctrine," 
the  gospel  of  love  and  reconciliation  which  was  to 
cure  the  sorrows  of  Italy.  The  nomination  of 
Cardinal  Gizzi  to  the  Roman  State  Secretaryship 


THE  GADFLY.  135 

in  place  of  the  universally  detested  Lambruschini 
had  raised  the  public  enthusiasm  to  its  highest 
pitch;  and  Montanelli  was  just  the  man  who  could 
most  easily  sustain  it.  The  irreproachable  strict- 
ness of  his  life  was  a  phenomenon  sufficiently  rare 
among  the  high  dignitaries  of  the  Roman  Church 
to  attract  the  attention  of  people  accustomed  to 
regard  blackmailing,  peculation,  and  disreputable 
intrigues  as  almost  invariable  adjuncts  to  the 
career  of  a  prelate.  Moreover,  his  talent  as  a 
preacher  was  really  great;  and  with  his  beautiful 
voice  and  magnetic  personality,  he  would  in  any 
time  and  place  have  made  his  mark. 

Grassini,  as  usual,  strained  every  nerve  to  get 
the  newly  arrived  celebrity  to  his  house;  but 
Montanelli  was  no  easy  game  to  catch.  To  all 
invitations  he  replied  with  the  same  courteous  but 
positive  refusal,  saying  that  his  health  was  bad  and 
his  time  fully  occupied,  and  that  he  had  neither 
strength  nor  leisure  for  going  into  society. 

"  What  omnivorous  creatures  those  Grassinis 
are!"  Martini  said  contemptuously  to  Gemma  as 
they  crossed  the  Signoria  square  one  bright,  cold 
Sunday  morning.  "  Did  you  notice  the  way 
Grassini  bowed  when  the  Cardinal's  carriage  drove 
up?  It's  all  one  to  them  who  a  man  is,  so  long  as 
he's  talked  about.  I  never  saw  such  lion-hunters 
in  my  life.  Only  last  August  it  was  the  Gadfly; 
now  it's  Montanelli.  I  hope  His  Eminence  feels 
flattered  at  the  attention;  a  precious  lot  of  adven- 
turers have  shared  it  with  him." 

They  had  been  hearing  Montanelli  preach  in 
the  Cathedral;  and  the  great  building  had  been  so 
thronged  with  eager  listeners  that  Martini,  fear- 
ing a  return  of  Gemma's  troublesome  headaches, 
had  persuaded  her  to  come  away  before  the  Mass 


136  THE  GADFLY. 

was  over.  The  sunny  morning,  the  first  after  a 
week  of  rain,  offered  him  an  excuse  for  suggesting 
a  walk  among  the  garden  slopes  by  San  Niccolo. 

"  No,"  she  answered;  "  I  should  like  a  walk  if 
you  have  time;  but  not  to  the  hills.  Let  us  keep 
along  the  Lung'Arno;  Montanelli  will  pass  on  his 
way  back  from  church  and  I  am  like  Grassini — 
I  want  to  see  the  notability." 

"  But  you  have  just  seen  him." 

"  Not  close.  There  was  such  a  crush  in  the 
Cathedral,  and  his  back  was  turned  to  us  when  the 
carriage  passed.  If  we  keep  near  to  the  bridge 
we  shall  be  sure  to  see  him  well — he  is  staying 
on  the  Lung'Arno,  you  know." 

"  But  what  has  given  you  such  a  sudden  fancy 
to  see  Montanelli?  You  never  used  to  care  about 
famous  preachers." 

"  It  is  not  famous  preachers;  it  is  the  man  him- 
self; I  want  to  see  how  much  he  has  changed  since 
I  saw  him  last." 

"When  was  that?" 

"  Two  days  after  Arthur's  death." 

Martini  glanced  at  her  anxiously.  They  had 
come  out  on  to  the  Lung'Arno,  and  she  was  star- 
ing absently  across  the  water,  with  a  look  on  her 
face  that  he  hated  to  see. 

"  Gemma,  dear,"  he  said  after  a  moment;  "  are 
you  going  to  let  that  miserable  business  haunt 
you  all  your  life?  We  have  all  made  mistakes 
when  we  were  seventeen." 

"  We  have  not  all  killed  our  dearest  friend  when 
we  were  seventeen,"  she  answered  wearily;  and, 
leaning  her  arm  on  the  stone  balustrade  of  the 
bridge,  looked  down  into  the  river.  Martini  held 
his  tongue;  he  was  almost  afraid  to  speak  to  her 
when  this  mood  was  on  her.- 


THE  GADFLY.  137 

"  I  never  look  down  at  water  without  remem- 
bering," she  said,  slowly  raising  her  eyes  to  his; 
then  with  a  nervous  little  shiver:  "  Let  us  walk 
on  a  bit,  Cesare;  it  is  chilly  for  standing." 

They  crossed  the  bridge  in  silence  and  walked 
on  along  the  river-side.  After  a  few  minutes  she 
spoke  again. 

[<  What  a  beautiful  voice  that  man  has!  There 
is  something  about  it  that  I  have  never  heard  in 
any  other  human  voice.  I  believe  it  is  the  secret 
of  half  his  influence." 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  voice,"  Martini  assented, 
catching  at  a  subject  of  conversation  which  might 
lead  her  away  from  the  dreadful  memory  called  up 
by  the  river,  "  and  he  is,  apart  from  his  voice, 
about  the  finest  preacher  I  have  ever  heard.  But 
I  believe  the  secret  of  his  influence  lies  deeper  than 
that.  It  ,is  the  way  his  life  stands  out  from  that 
of  almost  all  the  other  prelates.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  could  lay  your  hand  on  one  other 
high  dignitary  in  all  the  Italian  Church — except 
the  Pope  himself — whose  reputation  is  so  utterly 
spotless.  I  remember,  when  I  was  in  the  Ro- 
magna  last  year,  passing  through  his  diocese  and 
seeing  those  fierce  mountaineers  waiting  in  the 
rain  to  get  a  glimpse  of  him  or  touch  his  dress. 
He  is  venerated  there  almost  as  a  saint;  and  that 
means  a  good  deal  among  the  Romagnols,  who 
generally  hate  everything  that  wears  a  cassock.  I 
remarked  to  one  of  the  old  peasants, — as  typical 
a  smuggler  as  ever  I  saw  in  my  life, — that  the 
people  seemed  very  much  devoted  to  their  bishop, 
and  he  said:  'We  don't  love  bishops,  they  are 
liars;  we  love  Monsignor  Montanelli.  Nobody 
has  ever  known  him  to  tell  a  lie  or  do  an  unjust 
thing.'  " 


138  THE  GADFLY. 

"  I  wonder,"  Gemma  said,  half  to  herself,  "  if  he 
knows  the  people  think  that  about  him." 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  know  it?  Do  you  think  it 
is  not  true?  " 

"  I  know  it  is  not  true." 

"  How  do  you  know  it?  " 

"  Because  he  told  me  so." 

"He  told  you?  Montanelli?  Gemma,  what 
do  you  mean?  " 

She  pushed  the  hair  back  from  her  forehead  and 
turned  towards  him.  They  were  standing  still 
again,  he  leaning  on  the  balustrade  and  she  slowly 
drawing  lines  on  the  pavement  with  the  point  of 
her  umbrella. 

"  Cesare,  you  and  I  have  been  friends  for  all 
these  years,  and  I  have  never  told  you  what  really 
happened  about  Arthur." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  tell  me,  dear,"  he  broke 
in  hastily;  "  I  know  all  about  it  already." 

"  Giovanni  told  you?  " 

"  Yes,  when  he  was  dying.  He  told  me  about 
it  one  night  when  I  was  sitting  up  with  him.  He 

said Gemma,  dear,  I  had  better  tell  you  the 

truth,  now  we  have  begun  talking  about  it — he 
said  that  you  were  always  brooding  over  that 
wretched  story,  and  he  begged  me  to  be  as  good 
a  friend  to  you  as  I  could  and  try  to  keep  you 
from  thinking  of  it.  And  I  have  tried  to,  dear, 
though  I  may  not  have  succeeded — I  have, 
indeed." 

"  I  know  you  have,"  she  answered  softly,  rais- 
ing her  eyes  for  a  moment;  "  I  should  have  been 
badly  off  without  your  friendship.  But — Gio- 
vanni did  not  tell  you  about  Monsignor  Monta- 
nelli, then?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  know  that  he  had  anything  to 


THE  GADFLY.  139 

do  with  it.  What  he  told  me  was  about — all  that 
affair  with  the  spy,  and  about " 

"  About  my  striking  Arthur  and  his  drowning 
himself.  Well,  I  will  tell  you  about  Montanelli." 

They  turned  back  towards  the  bridge  over  which 
the  Cardinal's  carriage  would  have  to  pass. 
Gemma  looked  out  steadily  across  the  water  as 
she  spoke. 

"  In  those  days  Montanelli  was  a  canon;  he  was 
Director  of  the  Theological  Seminary  at  Pisa,  and 
used  to  give  Arthur  lessons  in  philosophy  and  read 
with  him  after  he  went  up  to  the  Sapienza.  They 
were  perfectly  devoted  to  each  other;  more  like 
two  lovers  than  teacher  and  pupil.  Arthur  almost 
worshipped  the  ground  that  Montanelli  walked  on, 
and  I  remember  his  once  telling  me  that  if  he  lost 
his  '  Padre  ' — he  always  used  to  call  Montanelli  so 
— he  should  go  and  drown  himself.  Well,  then 
you  know  what  happened  about  the  spy.  The 
next  day,  my  father  and  the  Burtons — Arthur's 
step-brothers,  most  detestable  people — spent  the 
whole  day  dragging  the  Darsena  basin  for  the 
body;  and  I  sat  in  my  room  alone  and  thought  of 
what  I  had  done " 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  went  on  again: 

"  Late  in  the  evening  my  father  came  into  my 
room  and  said:  '  Gemma,  child,  come  downstairs; 
there's  a  man  I  want  you  to  see.'  And  when  we 
went  down  there  was  one  of  the  students  belong- 
ing to  the  group  sitting  in  the  consulting  room, 
all  white  and  shaking;  and  he  told  us  about  Gio- 
vanni's second  letter  coming  from  the  prison  to 
say  that  they  had  heard  from  the  jailer  about 
Cardi,  and  that  Arthur  had  been  tricked  in  the 
confessional.  I  remember  the  student  saying  to 
me:  'It  is  at  least  some  consolation  that  we  know 


1 40  THE  GADFLY. 

he  was  innocent.'  My  father  held  my  hands  and 
tried  to  comfort  me;  he  did  not  know  then  about 
the  blow.  Then  I  went  back  to  my  room  and 
sat  there  all  night  alone.  In  the  morning  my 
father  went  out  again  with  the  Burtons  to  see  the 
harbour  dragged.  They  had  some  hope  of  finding 
the  body  there." 

"  It  was  never  found,  was  it?  " 

"  No;  it  must  have  got  washed  out  to  sea;  but 
they  thought  there  was  a  chance.  I  was  alone  in 
my  room  and  the  servant  came  up  to  say  that  a 
'  reverendissimo  padre '  had  called  and  she  had 
told  him  my  father  was  at  the  docks  and  he  had 
gone  away.  I  knew  it  must  be  Montanelli;  so  I 
ran  out  at  the  back  door  and  caught  him  up  at 
the  garden  gate.  When  I  said:  '  Canon  Monta- 
nelli, I  want  to  speak  to  you,'  he  just  stopped  and 
waited  silently  for  me  to  speak.  Oh,  Cesare,  if 
you  had  seen  his  face — it  haunted  me  for  months 
afterwards!  I  said:  '  I  am  Dr.  Warren's  daughter, 
and  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  it  is  I  who  have 
killed  Arthur.'  I  told  him  everything,  and  he 
stood  and  listened,  like  a  figure  cut  in  stone,  till 
I  had  finished;  then  he  said:  'Set  your  heart  at 
rest,  my  child;  it  is  I  that  am  a  murderer,  not  you. 
I  deceived  him  and  he  found  it  out.'  And  with 
that  he  turned  and  went  out  at  the  gate  with- 
out another  word." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  happened  to  him  after  that; 
I  heard  the  same  evening  that  he  had  fallen  down 
in  the  street  in  a  kind  of  fit  and  had  been  car- 
ried into  a  house  near  the  docks;  but  that  is  all 
I  know.  My  father  did  everything  he  could  for 
me;  when  I  told  him  about  it  he  threw  up 
his  practice  and  took  me  away  to  England  at 


THE  GADFLY.  141 

once,  so  that  I  should  never  hear  anything  that 
could  remind  me.  He  was  afraid  I  should  end  in 
the  water,  too;  and  indeed  I  believe  I  was  near  it 
at  one  time.  But  then,  you  know,  when  we  found 
out  that  my  father  had  cancer  I  was  obliged  to 
come  to  myself — there  was  no  one  else  to  nurse 
him.  And  after  he  died  I  was  left  with  the  little 
ones  on  my  hands  until  my  elder  brother  was  able 
to  give  them  a  home.  Then  there  was  Giovanni. 
Do  you  know,  when  he  came  to  England  we  were 
almost  afraid  to  meet  each  other  with  that  fright- 
ful memory  between  us.  He  was  so  bitterly 
remorseful  for  his  share  in  it  all — that  unhappy 
letter  he  wrote  from  prison.  But  I  believe, 
really,  it  was  our  common  trouble  that  drew  us 
together." 

Martini  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  It  may  have  been  so  on  your  side,"  he  said; 
"  but  Giovanni  had  made  up  his  mind  from  the 
first  time  he  ever  saw  you.  I  remember  his  com- 
ing back  to  Milan  after  that  first  visit  to  Leghorn 
and  raving  about  you  to  me  till  I  was  perfectly 
sick  of  hearing  of  the  English  Gemma.  I  thought 
I  should  hate  you.  Ah!  there  it  comes! " 

The  carriage  crossed  the  bridge  and  drove  up  to 
a  large  house  on  the  Lung'Arno.  Montanelli  was 
leaning  back  on  the  cushions  as  if  too  tired  to 
care  any  longer  for  the  enthusiastic  crowd  which 
had  collected  round  the  door  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
him.  The  inspired  look  that  his  face  had  worn 
in  the  Cathedral  had  faded  quite  away  and  the 
sunlight  showed  the  lines  of  care  and  fatigue. 
When  he  had  alighted  and  passed,  with  the  heavy, 
spiritless  tread  of  weary  and  heart-sick  old  age, 
into  the  house,  Gemma  turned  away  and  walked 
slowly  to  the  bridge.  Her  face  seemed  for  a  mo- 


142  THE  GADFLY. 

ment  to  reflect  the  withered,  hopeless  look  of  his. 
Martini  walked  beside  her  in  silence. 

"  I  have  so  often  wondered,"  she  began  again 
after  a  little  pause;  "  what  he  meant  about  the 
deception.  It  has  sometimes  occurred  to  me " 

"Yes?" 

"  Well,  it  is  very  strange;  there  was  the 
most  extraordinary  personal  resemblance  between 
them." 

"  Between  whom?  " 

"  Arthur  and  Montanelli.  It  was  not  only  I 
wrho  noticed  it.  And  there  was  something  mys- 
terious in  the  relationship  between  the  members 
of  that  household.  Mrs.  Burton,  Arthur's  mother, 
was  one  of  the  sweetest  women  I  ever  knew.  Her 
face  had  the  same  spiritual  look  as  Arthur's,  and 
I  believe  they  were  alike  in  character,  too.  But 
she  always  seemed  half  frightened,  like  a  detected 
criminal;  and  her  step-son's  wife  used  to  treat 
her  as  no  decent  person  treats  a  dog.  And  then 
Arthur  himself  was  such  a  startling  contrast  to 
all  those  vulgar  Burtons.  Of  course,  when  one 
is  a  child  one  takes  everything  for  granted;  but 
looking  back  on  it  afterwards  I  have  often  won- 
dered whether  Arthur  was  really  a  Burton." 

"  Possibly  he  found  out  something  about  his 
mother — that  may  easily  have  been  the  cause  of 
his  death,  not  the  Cardi  affair  at  all,"  Martini 
interposed,  offering  the  only  consolation  he  could 
think  of  at  the  omment.  Gemma  shook  her 
head. 

"  If  you  could  have  seen  his  face  after  I  struck 
him,  Cesare,  you  would  not  think  that.  It  may 
be  all  true  about  Montanelli — very  likely  it  is — • 
but  what  I  have  done  I  have  done." 

They  walked  on  a  little  way  without  speaking. 


THE  GADFLY.  143 

"  My  dear,"  Martini  said  at  last;  "  if  there  were 
any  way  on  earth  to  undo  a  thing  that  is  once 
done,  it  would  be  worth  while  to  brood  over  our 
old  mistakes;  but  as  it  is,  let  the  dead  bury  their 
dead.  It  is  a  terrible  story,  but  at  least  the 
poor  lad  is  out  of  it  now,  and  luckier  than  some 
of  those  that  are  left — the  ones  that  are  in  exile 
and  in  prison.  You  and  I  have  them  to  think  of; 
we  have  no  right  to  eat  out  our  hearts  for  the 
dead.  Remember  what  your  own  Shelley  says: 
'  The  past  is  Death's,  the  future  is  thine  own.' 
Take  it,  while  it  is  still  yours,  and  fix  your  mind, 
not  on  what  you  may  have  done  long  ago  to  hurt, 
but  on  what  you  can  do  now  to  help." 

In  his  earnestness  he  had  taken  her  hand.  He 
dropped  it  suddenly  and  drew  back  at  the  sound 
of  a  soft,  cold,  drawling  voice  behind  him. 

"  Monsignor  Montan-n-nelli,"  murmured  this 
languid  voice,  "  is  undoubtedly  all  you  say,  my 
dear  doctor.  In  fact,  he  appears  to  be  so  much 
too  good  for  this  world  that  he  ought  to  be  po- 
litely escorted  into  the  next.  I  am  sure  he  would 
cause  as  great  a  sensation  there  as  he  has  done 
here;  there  are  p-p-probably  many  old-established 
ghosts  who  have  never  seen  such  a  thing  as  an 
honest  cardinal.  And  there  is  nothing  that  ghosts 
love  as  they  do  novelties " 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  Dr.  Ric- 
cardo's  voice  in  a  tone  of  ill-suppressed  irritation. 

"  From  Holy  Writ,  my  dear  sir.  If  the  Gospel 
is  to  be  trusted,  even  the  most  respectable  of  all 
Ghosts  had  a  f-f-fancy  for  capricious  alliances. 
Now,  honesty  and  c-c-cardinals — that  seems  to 
me  a  somewhat  capricious  alliance,  and  rather  an 
uncomfortable  one,  like  shrimps  and  liquorice. 
Ah,  Signor  Martini,  and  Signora  Bolla!  Lovely 


144  THE  GADFLY. 

weather  after  the  rain,  is  it  not?  Have  you  been 
to  hear  the  n-ne\v  Savonarola,  too?  " 

Martini  turned  round  sharply.  The  Gadfly, 
with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  a  hot-house  flower 
in  his  buttonhole,  was  holding  out  to  him  a  slender, 
carefully-gloved  hand.  With  the  sunlight  re- 
flected in  his  immaculate  boots  and  glancing  back 
from  the  water  on  to  his  smiling  face,  he  looked 
to  Martini  less  lame  and  more  conceited  than 
usual.  They  were  shaking  hands,  affably  on  the 
one  side  and  rather  sulkily  on  the  other,  when 
Riccardo  hastily  exclaimed: 

"  I  am  afraid  Signora  Bolla  is  not  well!  " 

She  was  so  pale  that  her  face  looked  almost  livid 
under  the  shadow  of  her  bonnet,  and  the  ribbon 
at  her  throat  fluttered  perceptibly  from  the  violent 
beating  of  the  heart. 

"  I  will  go  home,"  she  said  faintly. 

A  cab  was  called  and  Martini  got  in  with  her 
to  see  her  safely  home.  As  the  Gadfly  bent  down 
to  arrange  her  cloak,  which  was  hanging  over  the 
wheel,  he  raised  his  eyes  suddenly  to  her  face,  and 
Martini  saw  that  she  shrank  away  with  a  look  of 
something  like  terror. 

"Gemma,  what  is  the  matter  with  yon?"  he 
asked,  in  English,  when  they  had  started.  "  What 
did  that  scoundrel  say  to  you?  " 

"  Nothing,  Cesare;  it  was  no  fault  of  his.  I — 
I— had  a  fright " 

"A  fright?" 

"  Yes;  I  fancied—  She  put  one  hand  over 

her  eyes,  and  he  waited  silently  till  she  should 
recover  her  self-command.  Her  face  was  already 
regaining  its  natural  colour. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  she  said  at  last,  turning 
to  him  and  speaking  in  her  usual  voice;  "  it  is 


THE  GADFLY.  145 

worse  than  useless  to  look  back  at  a  horrible  past. 
It  plays  tricks  with  one's  nerves  and  makes  one 
imagine  all  sorts  of  impossible  things.  \Ve  will 
ncrcr  talk  about  that  subject  again,  Cesare,  or  I 
shall  see  fantastic  likenesses  to  Arthur  in  every 
face  I  meet.  It  is  a  kind  of  hallucination,  like 
a  nightmare  in  broad  daylight.  Just  now,  when" 
that  odious  little  fop  came  up,  I  fancied  it  was 
Arthur." 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  Gadfly  certainly  knew  how  to  make  per- 
sonal enemies.  He  had  arrived  in  Florence  in 
August,  and  by  the  end  of  October  three-fourths 
of  the  committee  which  had  invited  him  shared 
Martini's  opinion.  His  savage  attacks  upon  Mon- 
tanelli  had  annoyed  even  his  admirers;  and  Galli 
himself,  who  at  first  had  been  inclined  to  uphold 
everything  the  witty  satirist  said  or  did,  began  to 
acknowledge  with  an  aggrieved  air  that  Monta- 
nelli  had  better  have  been  left  in  peace.  "  Decent 
cardinals  are  none  so  plenty.  One  might  treat 
them  politely  when  they  do  turn  up." 

The  only  person  who,  apparently,  remained 
quite  indifferent  to  the  storm  of  caricatures  and 
pasquinades  was  Montanelli  himself.  It  seemed, 
as  Martini  said,  hardly  worth  while  to  expend 
one's  energy  in  ridiculing  a  man  who  took  it  so 
good-humouredly.  It  was  said  in  the  town  that 
Montanelli,  one  day  when  the  Archbishop  of  Flor- 
ence was  dining  with  him,  had  found  in  the  room 
one  of  the  Gadfly's  bitter  personal  lampoons 
against  himself,  had  read  it  through  and  handed 
the  paper  to  the  Archbishop,  remarking:  "  That 
is  rather  cleverly  put,  is  it  not?  " 


146  THE  GADFLY. 

One  day  there  appeared  in  the  town  a  leaflet, 
headed:  i%  The  Mystery  of  the  Annunciation." 
Even  had  the  author  omitted  his  now  familiar 
signature,  a  sketch  of  a  gadfly  with  spread  wings, 
the  bitter,  trenchant  style  would  have  left  in  the 
minds  of  most  readers  no  doubt  as  to  his  identity. 
The  skit  was  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between 
Tuscany  as  the  Virgin  Mary,  and  Montanelli  as  the 
angel  who,  bearing  the  lilies  of  purity  and  crowned 
with  the  olive  branch  of  peace,  was  announcing 
the  advent  of  the  Jesuits.  The  whole  thing  was 
full  of  offensive  personal  allusions  and  hints  of  the 
most  risky  nature,  and  all  Florence  felt  the  satire 
to  be  both  ungenerous  and  unfair.  And  yet  all 
Florence  laughed.  There  was  something  so  irre- 
sistible in  the  Gadfly's  grave  absurdities  that  those 
who  most  disapproved  of  and  disliked  him  laughed 
as  immoderately  at  all  his  squibs  as  did  his  warmest 
partisans.  Repulsive  in  tone  as  the  leaflet  was, 
it  left  its  trace  upon  the  popular  feeling  of  the 
town.  Montanelli's  personal  reputation  stood  too 
high  for  any  lampoon,  however  witty,  seriously  to 
injure  it,  but  for  a  moment  the  tide  almost  turned 
against  him.  The  Gadfly  had  known  where  to 
sting;  and,  though  eager  crowds  still  collected 
before  the  Cardinal's  house  to  see  him  enter  or 
leave  his  carriage,  ominous  cries  of  "  Jesuit !  "  and 
"  Sanfedist  spy!"  often  mingled  with  the  cheers 
and  benedictions. 

But  Montanelli  had  no  lack  of  supporters.  Two 
days  after  the  publication  of  the  skit,  the  Church- 
man, a  leading  clerical  paper,  brought  out  a 
brilliant  article,  called:  "An  Answer  to  'The 
Mystery  of  the  Annunciation,'"  and  signed:  "A 
Son  of  the  Church."  It  was  an  impassioned  de- 
fence of  Montanelli  against  the  Gadfly's  slander- 


THE  GADFLY.  147 

ous  imputations.  The  anonymous  writer,  after 
expounding,  with  great  eloquence  and  fervour,  the 
doctrine  of  peace  on  earth  and  good  will  towards 
men,  of  which  the  new  Pontiff  was  the  evangelist, 
concluded  by  challenging  the  Gadfly  to  prove  a 
single  one  of  his  assertions,  and  solemnly  appeal- 
ing to  the  public  not  to  believe  a  contemptible 
slanderer.  Both  the  cogency  of  the  article  as  a 
bit  of  special  pleading  and  its  merit  as  a  literary 
composition  were  sufficiently  far  above  the  average 
to  attract  much  attention  in  the  town,  especially 
as  not  even  the  editor  of  the  newspaper  could 
guess  the  author's  identity.  The  article  was  soon 
reprinted  separately  in  pamphlet  form;  and  the 
"  anonymous  defender "  was  discussed  in  every 
coffee-shop  in  Florence. 

The  Gadfly  responded  with  a  violent  attack  on 
the  new  Pontificate  and  all  its  supporters,  espe- 
cially on  Montanelli,  who,  he  cautiously  hinted,  had 
probably  consented  to  the  panegyric  on  himself. 
To  this  the  anonymous  defender  again  replied  in 
the  Churchman  with  an  indignant  denial.  During 
the  rest  of  Montanelli's  stay  the  controversy  rag- 
ing between  the  two  writers  occupied  more  of  the 
public  attention  than  did  even  the  famous  preacher 
himself. 

Some  members  of  the  liberal  party  ventured  to 
remonstrate  with  the  Gadfly  about  the  unneces- 
sary malice  of  his  tone  towards  Montanelli;  but 
they  did  not  get  much  satisfaction  out  of  him. 
He  only  smiled  affably  and  answered  with  a  lan- 
guid little  stammer:  "  R-really,  gentlemen,  you  are 
rather  unfair.  I  expressly  stipulated,  when  I  gave 
in  to  Signora  Bolla,  that  I  should  be  allowed  a 
1-1-little  chuckle  all  to  myself  now.  It  is  so  nomi- 
nated in  the  bond!  " 


148  THE   GADFLY. 

At  the  end  of  October  Montanelli  returned  to 
his  see  in  the  Romagna,  and,  before  leaving  Flor- 
ence, preached  a  farewell  sermon  in  which  he  spoke 
of  the  controversy,  gently  deprecating  the  vehe- 
mence of  both  writers  and  begging  his  unknown 
defender  to  set  an  example  of  tolerance  by  closing 
a  useless  and  unseemly  war  of  words.  On  the 
following  day  the  Churchman  contained  a  notice 
that,  at  Monsignor  Montanelli's  publicly  expressed 
desire,  "  A  Son  of  the  Church  "  would  withdraw 
from  the  controversy. 

The  last  word  remained  with  the  Gadfly.  He 
issued  a  little  leaflet,  in  which  he  declared  himself 
disarmed  and  converted  by  Montanelli's  Christian 
meekness  and  ready  to  weep  tears  of  reconciliation 
upon  the  neck  of  the  first  Sanfedist  he  met.  "  I 
am  even  willing,"  he  concluded;  "  to  embrace  my 
anonymous  challenger  himself;  and  if  my  readers 
knew,  as  his  Eminence  and  I  know,  what  that 
implies  and  why  he  remains  anonymous,  they 
would  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  my  conversion." 

In  the  latter  part  of  November  he  announced  to 
the  literary  committee  that  he  was  going  for  a 
fortnight's  holiday  to  the  seaside.  He  went,  ap- 
parently, to  Leghorn;  but  Dr.  Riccardo,  going 
there  soon  after  and  wishing  to  speak  to  him, 
searched  the  town  for  him  in  vain.  On  the  5th  of 
December  a  political  demonstration  of  the  most 
extreme  character  burst  out  in  the  States  of  the 
Church,  along  the  whole  chain  of  the  Apennines; 
and  people  began  to  guess  the  reason  of  the  Gad- 
fly's sudden  fancy  to  take  his  holidays  in  the  depth 
of  winter.  He  came  back  to  Florence  when  the 
riots  had  been  quelled,  and,  meeting  Riccardo  in 
the  street,  remarked  affably: 

"  I  hear  you  were  inquiring  for  me  in  Leghorn; 


THE  GADFLY.  149 

I  was  staying  in  Pisa.  What  a  pretty  old  town 
it  is!  There's  something  quite  Arcadian  about  it." 

In  Christmas  week  he  attended  an  afternoon 
meeting  of  the  literary  committee  which  was  held 
in  Dr.  Riccardo's  lodgings  near  the  Porta  alia 
Croce.  The  meeting  was  a  full  one,  and  when  he 
came  in,  a  little  late,  with  an  apologetic  bow  and 
smile,  there  seemed  to  be  no  seat  empty.  Ric- 
cardo  rose  to  fetch  a  chair  from  the  next  room, 
but  the  Gadfly  stopped  him.  "  Don't  trouble 
about  it,"  he  said;  "  I  shall  be  quite  comfortable 
here  ";  and  crossing  the  room  to  a  window  beside 
which  Gemma  had  placed  her  chair,  he  sat  down 
on  the  sill,  leaning  his  head  indolently  back 
against  the  shutter. 

As  he  looked  down  at  Gemma,  smiling  with 
half-shut  eyes,  in  the  subtle,  sphinx-like  way  that 
gave  him  the  look  of  a  Leonardo  da  Vinci  portrait, 
the  instinctive  distrust  with  which  he  inspired  her 
deepened  into  a  sense  of  unreasoning  fear. 

The  proposal  under  discussion  was  that  a  pam- 
phlet be  issued  setting  forth  the  committee's  views 
on  the  dearth  with  which  Tuscany  was  threatened 
and  the  measures  which  should  be  taken  to  meet 
it.  The  matter  was  a  somewhat  difficult  one  to 
decide,  because,  as  usual,  the  committee's  views 
upon  the  subject  were  much  divided.  The  more 
advanced  section,  to  which  Gemma,  Martini,  and 
Riccardo  belonged,  was  in  favour  of  an  energetic 
appeal  to  both  government  and  public  to  take  ade- 
quate measures  at  once  for  the  relief  of  the  peas- 
antry. The  moderate  division — including,  of 
course,  Grassini — feared  that  an  over-emphatic 
tone  might  irritate  rather  than  convince  the 
ministry. 

"  It  is  all  very  well,  gentlemen,  to  want  the 


150  THE  GADFLY. 

people  helped  at  once,"  he  said,  looking  round 
upon  the  red-hot  radicals  with  his  calm  and  pity- 
ing air.  "  We  most  of  us  want  a  good  many  things 
that  we  are  not  likely  to  get;  but  if  we  start  with 
the  tone  you  propose  to  adopt,  the  government 
is  very  likely  not  to  begin  any  relief  measures 
at  all  till  there  is  actual  famine.  If  we  could 
only  induce  the  ministry  to  make  an  inquiry 
into  the  state  of  the  crops  it  would  be  a  step  in 
advance." 

Galli,  in  his  corner  by  the  stove,  jumped  up  to 
answer  his  enemy. 

"A  step  in  r.dvance — yes,  my  dear  sir;  but  if 
there's  going  to  be  a  famine,  it  won't  w?ait  for  us 
to  advance  at  that  pace.  The  people  might  all 
starve  before  we  got  to  any  actual  relief." 

"  It  would  be  interesting  to  know "  Sac- 

coni  began;  but  several  voices  interrupted  him. 

"  Speak  up;  we  can't  hear!  " 

"  I  should  think  not,  with  such  an  infernal  row 
in  the  street,"  said  Galli,  irritably.  "  Is  that  win- 
dow shut,  Riccarclo?  One  can't  hear  one's  self 
speak!  " 

Gemma  looked  round.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  the 
window  is  quite  shut.  I  think  there  is  a  variety 
show,  or  some  such  thing,  passing." 

The  sounds  of  shouting  and  laughter,  of  the 
tinkling  of  bells  and  trampling  of  feet,  resounded 
from  the  street  below,  mixed  with  the  braying  of 
a  villainous  brass  band  and  the  unmerciful  banging 
of  a  drum. 

''It  can't  be  helped  these  few  days,"  said  Ric- 
cardo;  "  we  must  expect  noise  at  Christmas  time. 
What  were  you  saying,  Sacconi?" 

"  I  said  it  would  be  interesting  to  hear  what  is 
thought  about  the  matter  in  Pisa  and  Leghorn. 


THE  GADFLY.  151 

Perhaps  Signer  Rivarez  can  tell  us  something;  he 
has  just  come  from  there." 

The  Gadfly  did  not  answer.  He  was  staring  out 
of  the  window  and  appeared  not  to  have  heard 
what  had  been  said. 

"  Signor  Rivarez!  "  said  Gemma.  She  was  the 
only  person  sitting  near  to  him,  and  as  he  remained 
silent  she  bent  forward  and  touched  him  on  the 
arm.  He  slowly  turned  his  face  to  her,  and  she 
started  as  she  saw  its  fixed  and  awful  immobility. 
For  a  moment  it  was  like  the  face  of  a  corpse;  then 
the  lips  moved  in  a  strange,  lifeless  way. 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered;  "  a  variety  show." 

Her  first  instinct  was  to  shield  him  from  the 
curiosity  of  the  others.  Without  understanding 
what  was  the  matter  with  him,  she  realized  that 
some  frightful  fancy  or  hallucination  had  seized 
upon  him,  and  that,  for  the  moment,  he  was  at 
its  mercy,  body  and  soul.  She  rose  quickly  and, 
standing  between  him  and  the  company,  threw 
the  window  open  as  if  to  look  out.  No  one  but 
herself  had  seen  his  face. 

In  the  street  a  travelling  circus  was  passing, 
with  mountebanks  on  donkeys  and  harlequins  in 
parti-coloured  dresses.  The  crowd  of  holiday 
masqueraders,  laughing  and  shoving,  was  exchang- 
ing jests  and  showers  of  paper  ribbon  with  the 
clowns  and  flinging  little  bags  of  sugar-plums  to 
the  columbine,  who  sat  in  her  car,  tricked  out  in 
tinsel  and  feathers,  with  artificial  curls  on  her  fore- 
head and  an  artificial  smile  on  her  painted  lips. 
Behind  the  car  came  a  motley  string  of  figures — 
street  Arabs,  beggars,  clowns  turning  somersaults, 
and  costermongers  hawking  their  wares.  They 
were  jostling,  pelting,  and  applauding  a  figure 
which  at  first  Gemma  couM  not  see  for  the  push- 


152  THE  GADFLY. 

ing  and  swaying  of  the  crowd.  The  next  mo- 
ment, however,  she  saw  plainly  what  it  was — a 
hunchback,  dwarfish  and  ugly,  grotesquely  attired 
in  a  fool's  dress,  with  paper  cap  and  bells.  He 
evidently  belonged  to  the  strolling  company,  and 
was  amusing  the  crowd  with  hideous  grimaces  and 
contortions. 

"  What  is  going  on  out  there?  "  asked  Riccardo, 
approaching  the  window.  "  You  seem  very  much 
interested." 

He  was  a  little  surprised  at  their  keeping  the 
whole  committee  waiting  to  look  at  a  strolling 
company  of  mountebanks.  Gemma  turned  round. 

"  It  is  nothing  interesting,"  she  said;  "  only  a 
variety  show;  but  they  made  such  a  noise  that  I 
thought  it  must  be  something  else." 

She  was  standing  with  one  hand  upon  the 
window-sill,  and  suddenly  felt  the  Gadfly's  cold 
fingers  press  the  hand  with  a  passionate  clasp. 
"Thank  you!"  he  whispered  softly;  and  then, 
closing  the  window,  sat  down  again  upon  the  sill. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  he  said  in  his  airy  manner,  "  that 
I  have  interrupted  you,  gentlemen.  I  was  1-look- 
ing  at  the  variety  show;  it  is  s-such  a  p-pretty 
sight." 

"  Sacconi  was  asking  you  a  question,"  said  Mar- 
tini gruffly.  The  Gadfly's  behaviour  seemed  to 
him  an  absurd  piece  of  affectation,  and  he  was 
annoyed  that  Gemma  should  have  been  tactless 
enough  to  follow  his  example.  It  was  not  like  her. 

The  Gadfly  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  the  state 
of  feeling  in  Pisa,  explaining  that  he  had  been 
there  "  only  on  a  holiday."  He  then  plunged  at 
once  into  an  animated  discussion,  first  of  agri- 
cultural prospects,  then  of  the  pamphlet  question; 
and  continued  pouring  out  a  flood  of  stammering 


THE  GADFLY.  153 

talk  till  the  others  were  quite  tired.  He  seemed 
to  find  some  feverish  delight  in  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice. 

When  the  meeting  ended  and  the  members  of 
the  committee  rose  to  go,  Riccardo  came  up  to 
Martini. 

;'  Will  you  stop  to  dinner  with  me?  Fabrizi 
and  Sacconi  have  promised  to  stay." 

'  Thanks;  but  I  was  going  to  see  Signora  Bolla 
home." 

"  Are  you  really  afraid  I  can't  get  home  by 
myself? "  she  asked,  rising  and  putting  on  her 
wrap.  "  Of  course  he  will  stay  with  you,  Dr.  Ric- 
cardo; it's  good  for  him  to  get  a  change.  He 
doesn't  go  out  half  enough." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  see  you  home,"  the 
Gadfly  interposed;  "  I  am  going  in  that  direction." 

"  If  you  really  are  going  that  way " 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  have  time  to  drop  in  here 
in  the  course  of  the  evening,  will  you,  Rivarez?  " 
asked  Riccardo,  as  he  opened  the  door  for  them. 

The  Gadfly  looked  back  over  his  shoulder, 
laughing.  "  I,  my  dear  fellow?  I'm  going  to  see 
the  variety  show! " 

"  What  a  strange  creature  that  is;  and  what  an 
odd  affection  for  mountebanks!"  said  Riccardo, 
coming  back  to  his  visitors. 

"  Case  of  a  fellow-feeling,  I  should  think,"  said 
Martini;  "  the  man's  a  mountebank  himself,  if  ever 
I  saw  one." 

"  I  wish  I  could  think  he  was  only  that,"  Fabrizi 
interposed,  with  a  grave  face.  "  If  he  is  a  mounte- 
bank I  am  afraid  he's  a  very  dangerous  one." 

"  Dangerous  in  what  way?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  those  mysterious  little  pleas- 
ure trips  that  he  is  so  fond  of  taking.  This  is  the 


154  THE   GADFLY. 

third  time,  you  know;  and  I  don't  believe  he  has 
been  in  Pisa  at  all." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  almost  an  open  secret  that  it's 
into  the  mountains  he  goes,"  said  Sacconi.  "  He 
has  hardly  taken  the  trouble  to  deny  that  he  is 
still  in  relations  with  the  smugglers  he  got  to 
know  in  the  Savigno  affair,  and  it's  quite  natural 
he  should  take  advantage  of  their  friendship  to 
get  his  leaflets  across  the  Papal  frontier." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Riccardo;  "  what  I  wanted 
to  talk  to  you  about  is  this  very  question.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  that  we  could  hardly  do  better  than 
ask  Rivarez  to  undertake  the  management  of  our 
own  smuggling.  That  press  at  Pistoja  is  very 
inefficiently  managed,  to  my  thinking;  and  the 
way  the  leaflets  are  taken  across,  always  rolled  in 
those  everlasting  cigars,  is  more  than  primitive." 

"It  has  answered  pretty  well  up  till  now,"  said 
Martini  contumaciously.  He  was  getting  wearied 
of  hearing  Galli  and  Riccardo  always  put  the  Gad- 
fly fonvard  as  a  model  to  copy,  and  inclined  to 
think  that  the  world  had  gone  well  enough  before 
this  "  lackadaisical  buccaneer  "  turned  up  to  set 
everyone  to  rights. 

"It  has  answered  so  far  well  that  we  have  been 
satisfied  with  it  for  want  of  anything  better; 
but  you  know  there  have  been  plenty  of  arrests  and 
confiscations.  Now  I  believe  that  if  Rivarez  un- 
dertook the  business  for  us,  there  would  be  less  of 
that." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so?  " 

u  In  the  first  place,  the  smugglers  look  upon 
us  as  strangers  to  do  business  with,  or  as  sheep  to 
fleece,  whereas  Rivarez  is  their  personal  friend, 
very  likely  their  leader,  whom  they  look  up  to  and 
trust.  You  may  be  sure  every  smuggler  in  the 


THE  GADFLY.  155 

Apennines  will  do  for  a  man  who  was  in  the  Sa- 
vigno  revolt  what  he  will  not  do  for  us.  In  the" 
next  place,  there's  hardly  a  man  among  us  that 
knows  the  mountains  as  Rivarez  does.  Remem- 
ber, he  has  been  a  fugitive  among  them,  and  knows 
the  smugglers'  paths  by  heart.  No  smuggler 
would  dare  to  cheat  him,  even  if  he  wished  to,  and 
no  smuggler  could  cheat  him  if  he  dared  to  try." 

"  Then  is  your  proposal  that  we  should  ask  him 
to  take  over  the  whole  management  of  our  litera- 
ture on  the  other  side  of  the  frontier — distribution, 
addresses,  hiding-places,  everything — or  simply 
that  we  should  ask  him  to  put  the  things  across 
for  us?  " 

"  Well,  as  for  addresses  and  hiding-places,  he 
probably  knows  already  all  the  ones  that  we  have 
and  a  good  many  more  that  we  have  not.  I  don't 
suppose  we  should  be  able  to  teach  him  much  in 
that  line.  As  for  distribution,  it's  as  the  others 
prefer,  of  course.  The  important  question,  to  my 
mind,  is  the  actual  smuggling  itself.  Once  the 
books  are  safe  in  Bologna,  it's  a  comparatively 
simple  matter  to  circulate  them." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Martini,  "  I  am  against  the 
plan.  In  the  first  place,  all  this  about  his  skilful- 
ness  is  mere  conjecture;  we  have  not  actually  seen 
him  engaged  in  frontier  work  and  do  not  know 
whether  he  keeps  his  head  in  critical  moments." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  have  any  doubt  of  that !  " 
Riccardo  put  in.  "  The  history  of  the  Savigno 
affair  proves  that  he  keeps  his  head." 

"And  then,"  Martini  went  on;  "I  do  not  feel 
at  all  inclined,  from  what  little  I  know  of  Rivarez, 
to  intrust  him  with  all  the  party's  secrets.  He 
seems  to  me  feather-brained  and  theatrical.  To 
give  the  whole  management  of  a  party's  contra- 


156  THE  GADFLY. 

band  work  into  a  man's  hands  is  a  serious  matter. 
Fabrizi,  what  do  you  think?  " 

"  If  I  had  only  such  objections  as  yours,  Mar- 
tini," replied  the  professor,  "  I  should  certainly 
waive  them  in  the  case  of  a  man  really  possessing, 
as  Rivarez  undoubtedly  does,  all  the  qualifications 
Riccardo  speaks  of.  For  my  part,  I  have  not  the 
slightest  doubt  as  to  either  his  courage,  his  hon- 
esty, or  his  presence  of  mind;  and  that  he  knows 
both  mountains  and  mountaineers  we  have  had 
ample  proof.  But  there  is  another  objection.  I 
do  not  feel  sure  that  it  is  only  for  the  smuggling 
of  pamphlets  he  goes  into  the  mountains.  I  have 
begun  to  doubt  whether  he  has  not  another  pur- 
pose. This  is,  of  course,  entirely  between  our- 
selves. It  is  a  mere  suspicion.  It  seems  to  me 
just  possible  that  he  is  in  connexion  with  some 
one  of  the  '  sects/  and  perhaps  with  the  most  dan- 
gerous of  them." 

"  Which  one  do  you  mean — the  '  Red  Girdles'?" 

"  No;  the  '  Occoltellatori.'  ' 

"The  'Knifers'!  But  that  is  a  little  body  of 
outlaws — peasants,  most  of  them,  with  neither 
education  nor  political  experience." 

"So  were  the  insurgents  of  Savigno;  but  they 
had  a  few  educated  men  as  leaders,  and  this  little 
society  may  have  the  same.  And  remember,  it's 
pretty  well  known  that  most  of  the  members  of 
those  more  violent  sects  in  the  Romagna  are  sur- 
vivors of  the  Savigno  affair,  who  found  themselves 
too  weak  to  fight  the  Churchmen  in  open  insur- 
rection, and  so  have  fallen  back  on  assassination. 
Their  hands  are  not  strong  enough  for  guns,  and 
they  take  to  knives  instead." 

"  But  what  makes  you  suppose  Rivarez  to  be 
connected  with  them?  " 


THE  GADFLY.  157 

"  I  don't  suppose,  I  merely  suspect.  In  any 
case,  I  think  we  had  better  find  out  for  certain 
before  we  intrust  our  smuggling  to  him.  If  he 
attempted  to  do  both  kinds  of  work  at  once  he 
would  injure  our  party  most  terribly;  hr-  would 
simply  destroy  its  reputation  and  accomplish 
nothing.  However,  we  will  talk  of  that  another 
time.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  the  news 
from  Rome.  It  is  said  that  a  commission  is  to 
be  appointed  to  draw  up  a  project  for  a  municipal 
constitution." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GEMMA  and  the  Gadfly  walked  silently  along 
the  Lung'Arno.  His  feverish  talkativeness  seemed 
to  have  quite  spent  itself;  he  had  hardly  spoken 
a  word  since  they  left  Riccardo's  door,  and 
Gemma  was  heartily  glad  of  his  silence.  She 
always  felt  embarrassed  in  his  company,  and  to- 
day more  so  than  usual,  for  his  strange  behaviour 
at  the  committee  meeting  had  greatly  perplexed 
her. 

By  the  Uffizi  palace  he  suddenly  stopped  and 
turned  to  her. 

"Are  you  tired?" 

"No;    why?" 

"  Nor  especially  busy  this  evening?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  want  to  ask  a  favour  of  you;  I  want  you  to 
come  for  a  walk  with  me." 

"  Where  to? " 

"  Nowhere  in  particular;  anywhere  you  like." 

"  But  what  for?  " 

He  hesitated. 


158  THE   GADFLY. 

"I — can't  tell  you — at  least,  it's  very  difficult; 
but  please  come  if  you  can." 

He  raised  his  eyes  suddenly  from  the  ground, 
and  .she  saw  how  strange  their  expression  was. 

"  There  is  something  the  matter  with  you,"  she 
said  gently.  He  pulled  a  leaf  from  the  flower  in 
his  button-hole,  and  began  tearing  it  to  pieces. 
Who  was  it  that  he  was  so  oddly  like?  Someone 
who  had  that  same  trick  of  the  ringers  and  hur- 
ried, nervous  gesture. 

"  I  am  in  trouble,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  his 
hands  and  speaking  in  a  hardly  audible  voice.  "  I 
— don't  want  to  be  alone  this  evening.  Will  you 
come?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly,  unless  you  would  rather  go  to 
my  lodgings." 

"  No;  come  and  dine  with  me  at  a  restaurant. 
There's  one  on  the  Signoria.  Please  don't  refuse, 
now;  you've  promised!  " 

They  went  into  a  restaurant,  where  he  ordered 
dinner,  but  hardly  touched  his  own  share,  and  re- 
mained obstinately  silent,  crumbling  the  bread 
over  the  cloth,  and  fidgetting  with  the  fringe  of 
his  table  napkin.  Gemma  felt  thoroughly  uncom- 
fortable, and  began  to  wish  she  had  refused  to 
come;  the  silence  was  growing  awkward;  yet  she 
could  not  begin  to  make  small-talk  with  a  person 
who  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  presence.  At 
last  he  looked  up  and  said  abruptly: 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  the  variety  show?  " 

She  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  What  had 
he  got  into  his  head  about  variety  shows? 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  one?  "  he  asked  before  she 
had  time  to  speak. 

"  No;  I  don't  think  so.  I  didn't  suppose  they 
were  interesting." 


THE  GADFLY.  159 

"  They  are  very  interesting.  I  don't  think  any- 
one can  study  the  life  of  the  people  without  seeing 
them.  Let  us  go  back  to  the  Porta  alia  Croce." 

When  they  arrived  the  mountebanks  had  set  up 
their  tent  beside  the  town  gate,  and  an  abomi- 
nable scraping  of  fiddles  and  banging  of  drums 
announced  that  the  performance  had  begun. 

The  entertainment  was  of  the  roughest  kind. 
A  few  clowns,  harlequins,  and  acrobats,  a  circus- 
rider  jumping  through  hoops,  the  painted  colum- 
bine, and  the  hunchback  performing  various  dull 
and  foolish  antics,  represented  the  entire  force  of 
the  company.  The  jokes  were  not,  on  the  whole, 
coarse  or  offensive;  but  they  were  very  tame  and 
stale,  and  there  was  a  depressing  flatness  about 
the  whole  thing.  The  audience  laughed  and 
clapped  from  their  innate  Tuscan  courtesy;  but 
the  only  part  which  they  seemed  really  to  enjoy 
was  the  performance  of  the  hunchback,  in  which 
Gemma  could  find  nothing  either  witty  or  skilful. 
It  was  merely  a  series  of  grotesque  and  hideous 
contortions,  which  the  spectators  mimicked,  hold- 
ing up  children  on  their  shoulders  that  the  little 
ones  might  see  the  "  ugly  man." 

"  Signer  Rivarez,  do  you  really  think  this  at- 
tractive? "  said  Gemma,  turning  to  the  Gadfly, 
who  was  standing  beside  her,  his  arm  round  one 
of  the  wooden  posts  of  the  tent.  "  It  seems  to 
me " 

She  broke  off  and  remained  looking  at  him 
silently.  Except  when  she  had  stood  with  Mon- 
tanelli  at  the  garden  gate  in  Leghorn,  she  had 
never  seen  a  human  face  express  such  fathomless, 
hopeless  misery.  She  thought  of  Dante's  hell  as 
she  watched  him. 

Presently  the  hunchback,  receiving  a  kick  from 


160  THE  GADFLY. 

one  of  the  clowns,  turned  a  somersault  and  tum- 
bled in  a  grotesque  heap  outside  the  ring.  A  dia- 
logue between  two  clowns  began,  and  the  Gadfly 
seemed  to  wake  out  of  a  dream. 

"  Shall  we  go?  "  he  asked;  u  or  would  you  like 
to  see  more?  " 

"  I  would  rather  go." 

They  left  the  tent,  and  \valked  across  the  dark 
green  to  the  river.  For  a  few  moments  neither 
spoke. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  the  show?  "  the  Gadfly 
asked  presently. 

"  I  thought  it  rather  a  dreary  business;  and 
part  of  it  seemed  to  me  positively  unpleasant." 

"Which  part?" 

"  Well,  all  those  grimaces  and  contortions. 
They  are  simply  ugly;  there  is  nothing  clever 
about  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  hunchback's  performance?  " 

Remembering  his  peculiar  sensitiveness  on  the 
subject  of  his  own  physical  defects,  she  had 
avoided  mentioning  this  particular  bit  of  the  en- 
tertainment; but  now  that  he  had  touched  upon 
the  subject  himself,  she  answered:  "Yes;  I  did 
not  like  that  part  at  all." 

"  That  was  the  part  the  people  enjoyed  most." 

"  I  dare  say;  and  that  is  just  the  worst  thing 
about  it." 

"  Because  it  was  inartistic?  " 

"  N-no;  it  was  all  inartistic.  I  meant — because 
it  was  cruel." 

He  smiled. 

"  Cruel?    Do  you  mean  to  the  hunchback?" 

"  I  mean Of  course  the  man  himself  was 

quite  indifferent;  no  doubt,  it  is  to  him  just  a  way 
of  getting  a  living,  like  the  circus-rider's  way  or 


THE  GADFLY.  161 

the  columbine's.  But  the  thing  makes  one  feel 
unhappy.  It  is  humiliating;  it  is  the  degradation 
of  a  human  being." 

"  He  probably  is  not  any  more  degraded  than 
he  was  to  start  with.  Most  of  us  are  degraded  in 
one  way  or  another." 

"  Yes;  but  this — I  dare  say  you  will  think  it 
an  absurd  prejudice;  but  a  human  body,  to  me,  is 
a  sacred  thing;  I  don't  like  to  see  it  treated  irrev- 
erently and  made  hideous." 

"And  a  human  soul?" 

He  had  stopped  short,  and  was  standing  with 
one  hand  on  the  stone  balustrade  of  the  embank- 
ment, looking  straight  at  her. 

"  A  soul?  "  she  repeated,  stopping  in  her  turn 
to  look  at  him  in  wonder. 

He  flung  out  both  hands  with  a  sudden,  pas- 
sionate gesture. 

"  Has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  that  miser- 
able clown  may  have  a  soul — a  living,  struggling, 
human  soul,  tied  down  into  that  crooked  hulk  of 
a  body  and  forced  to  slave  for  it?  You  that  are  so 
tender-hearted  to  everything — you  that  pity  the 
body  in  its  fool's  dress  and  bells — have  you  never 
thought  of  the  wretched  soul  that  has  not  even 
motley  to  cover  its  horrible  nakedness?  Think 
of  it  shivering  with  cold,  stifled  with  shame  and 
misery,  before  all  those  people — feeling  their  jeers 
that  cut  like  a  whip — their  laughter,  that  burns 
like  red-hot  iron  on  the  bare  flesh!  Think  of  it 
looking  round — so  helpless  before  them  all — for 
the  mountains  that  will  not  fall  on  it — for  the  rocks 
that  have  not  the  heart  to  cover  it — envying  the 
rats  that  can  creep  into  some  hole  in  the  earth 
and  hide;  and  remember  that  a  soul  is  dumb — it 
has  no  voice  to  cry  out — it  must  endure,  and  en- 


1 62  THE  GADFLY. 

dure,  and  endure.  Oh!  I'm  talking  nonsense! 
Why  on  earth  don't  you  laugh?  You  have  no 
sense  of  humour!  " 

Slowly  and  in  dead  silence  she  turned  and 
walked  on  along  the  river  side.  During  the  whole 
evening  it  had  not  once  occurred  to  her  to  con- 
nect his  trouble,  whatever  it  might  be,  with  the 
variety  show;  and  now  that  some  dim  picture  of 
his  inner  life  had  been  revealed  to  her  by  this  sud- 
den outburst,  she  could  not  find,  in  her  over- 
whelming pity  for  him,  one  word  to  say.  He 
walked  on  beside  her,  with  his  head  turned  away, 
and  looked  into  the  water. 

"  I  want  you,  please,  to  understand,"  he  began 
suddenly,  turning  to  her  with  a  defiant  air,  "  that 
everything  I  have  just  been  saying  to  you  is  pure 
imagination.  I'm  rather  given  to  romancing,  but 
I  don't  like  people  to  take  it  seriously." 

She  made  no  answer,  and  they  walked  on  in 
silence.  As  they  passed  by  the  gateway  of  the 
Uffizi,  he  crossed  the  road  and  stooped  down 
over  a  dark  bundle  that  was  lying  against  the 
railings. 

''  What  is  the  matter,  little  one?  "  he  asked, 
more  gently  than  she  had  ever  heard  him  speak. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  home?  " 

The  bundle  moved,  and  answered  something  in 
a  low,  moaning  voice.  Gemma  came  across  to 
look,  and  saw  a  child  of  about  six  years  old,  rag- 
ged and  dirty,  crouching  on  the  pavement  like  a 
frightened  animal.  The  Gadfly  was  bending  down 
with  his  hand  on  the  unkempt  head. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  said,  stooping  lower  to  catch 
the  unintelligible  answer.  "  You  ought  to  go 
home  to  bed;  little  boys  have  no  business  out  of 
doors  at  night;  you'll  be  quite  frozen!  Give  me 


THE  GADFLY.  163 

your  hand  and  jump  up  like  a  man!  Where  do 
you  live?  " 

He  took  the  child's  arm  to  raise  him.  The  re- 
sult was  a  sharp  scream  and  a  quick  shrinking 
away. 

''  Why,  what  is  it?  "  the  Gadfly  asked,  kneeling 
down  on  the  pavement.  "Ah!  Signora,  look 
here!" 

The  child's  shoulder  and  jacket  were  covered 
with  blood. 

"  Tell  me  what  has  happened? "  the  Gadfly 
went  on  caressingly.  "  It  wasn't  a  fall,  was  it? 
No?  Someone's  been  beating  you?  I  thought 
so!  Who  was  it?  " 

"  My  uncle." 

"  Ah,  yes!    And  when  was  it?  " 

"  This  morning.    He  was  drunk,  and  I — I " 

"And  you  got  in  his  way — was  that  it?  You 
shouldn't  get  in  people's  way  when  they  are 
drunk,  little  man;  they  don't  like  it.  What  shall 
we  do  with  this  poor  mite,  signora?  Come  here 
to  the  light,  sonny,  and  let  me  look  at  that  shoul- 
der. Put  your  arm  round  my  neck;  I  won't  hurt 
you.  There  we  are!  " 

He  lifted  the  boy  in  his  arms,  and,  carrying  him 
across  the  street,  set  him  down  on  the  wide  stone 
balustrade.  Then,  taking  out  a  pocket-knife,  he 
deftly  ripped  up  the  torn  sleeve,  supporting  the 
child's  head  against  his  breast,  while  Gemma  held 
the  injured  arm.  The  shoulder  was  badly  bruised 
and  grazed,  and  there  was  a  deep  gash  on  the 
arm. 

'  That's  an  ugly  cut  to  give  a  mite  like  you," 
said  the  Gadfly,  fastening  his  handkerchief  round 
the  wound  to  prevent  the  jacket  from  rubbing 
against  it.  "  What  did  he  do  it  with?  " 


1 64  THE  GADFLY. 

"  The  shovel.  T  went  to  ask  him  to  give  me  a 
soldo  to  get  some  polenta  at  the  corner  shop,  and 
he  hit  me  with  the  shovel." 

The  Gadfly  shuddered.  "Ah!"  he  said  softly, 
"that  hurts;  doesn't  it,  little  one?" 

"  He  hit  me  with  the  shovel — and  I  ran  away — 
I  ran  away — because  he  hit  me." 

"  And  you've  been  wandering  about  ever  since, 
without  any  dinner?  " 

Instead  of  answering,  the  child  began  to  sob 
violently.  The  Gadfly  lifted  him  off  the  bal- 
ustrade. 

"  There,  there!  We'll  soon  set  all  that  straight. 
I  wonder  if  we  can  get  a  cab  anywhere.  I'm  afraid 
they'll  all  be  waiting  by  the  theatre;  there's  a 
grand  performance  going  on  to-night.  I  am  sorry 
to  drag  you  about  so,  signora;  but " 

"  I  would  rather  come  with  you.  You  may 
want  help.  Do  you  think  you  can  carry  him  so 
far?  Isn't  he  very  heavy?  " 

"  Oh,  I  can  manage,  thank  you." 

At  the  theatre  door  they  found  only  a  few  cabs 
waiting-,  and  these  were  all  engaged.  The  per- 
formance was  over,  and  most  of  the  audience  had 
gone.  Zita's  name  was  printed  in  large  letters  on 
the  wall-placards;  she  had  been  dancing  in  the 
ballet.  Asking  Gemma  to  wait  for  him  a  moment, 
the  Gadfly  went  round  to  the  performers'  en- 
trance, and  spoke  to  an  attendant. 

"  Has  Mme.  Reni  gone  yet?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  the  man  answered,  staring  blankly 
at  the  spectacle  of  a  well-dressed  gentleman  car- 
rying a  ragged  street  child  in  his  arms,  "  Mme. 
Reni  is  just  coming  out,  I  think;  her  carriage  is 
waiting  for  her.  Yes;  there  she  comes." 

Zita  descended  the  stairs,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 


THE  GADFLY.  165 

a  young  cavalry  officer.  She  looked  superbly 
handsome,  with  an  opera  cloak  of  flame-coloured 
velvet  thrown  over  her  evening  dress,  and  a  great 
fan  of  ostrich  plumes  hanging  from  her  waist.  In 
the  entry  she  stopped  short,  and,  drawing  her 
hand  away  from  the  officer's  arm,  approached  the 
Gadfly  in  amazement. 

"Felice!"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath, 
"  what  have  you  got  there?  " 

"  I  have  picked  up  this  child  in  the  street.  It  is 
hurt  and  starving;  and  I  want  to  get  it  home  as 
quickly  as  possible.  There  is  not  a  cab  to  be  got 
anywhere,  so  I  want  to  have  your  carriage." 

"  Felice!  you  are  not  going  to  take  a  horrid 
beggar-child  into  your  rooms!  Send  for  a  police- 
man, and  let  him  carry  it  to  the  Refuge  or  what- 
ever is  the  proper  place  for  it.  You  can't  have  all 
the  paupers  in  the  town " 

"  It  is  hurt,"  the  Gadfly  repeated;  "it  can  go 
to  the  Refuge  to-morrow,  if  necessary,  but  I  must 
see  to  the  child  first  and  give  it  some  food." 

Zita  made  a  little  grimace  of  disgust.  "  You've 
got  its  head  right  against  your  shirt!  How  can 
you?  It  is  dirty!  " 

The  Gadfly  looked  up  with  a  sudden  flash  of 
anger. 

"  It  is  hungry,"  he  said  fiercely.  "  You  don't 
know  what  that  means,  do  you?  " 

"  Signor  Rivarez,"  interposed  Gemma,  coming 
forward,  "  my  lodgings  are  quite  close.  Let  us 
take  the  child  in  there.  Then,  if  you  cannot  find 
a  vettura,  I  will  manage  to  put  it  up  for  the 
nirht." 

He  turned  round  quickly.    "  You  don't  mind?  " 

"Of  course  not.     Good-night,  Mme.  Reni!" 

The  gipsy,  with  a  stiff  bow  and  an  angry  shrug 


i66  THE  GADFLY. 

of  her  shoulders,  took  her  officer's  arm  again,  and, 
gathering  up  the  train  of  her  dress,  swept  past 
them  to  the  contested  carriage. 

"  I  will  send  it  back  to  fetch  you  and  the  child, 
if  you  like,  M.  Rivarez,"  she  said,  pausing  on  the 
doorstep. 

"  Very  well;  I  will  give  the  address."  He  came 
out  on  to  the  pavement,  gave  the  address  to  the 
driver,  and  walked  back  to  Gemma  with  his 
burden. 

Katie  was  waiting  up  for  her  mistress;  and,  on 
hearing  what  had  happened,  ran  for  warm  water 
and  other  necessaries.  Placing  the  child  on  a 
chair,  the  Gadfly  knelt  down  beside  him,  and, 
deftly  slipping  off  the  ragged  clothing,  bathed 
and  bandaged  the  wound  with  tender,  skilful 
hands.  He  had  just  finished  washing  the  boy,  and 
was  wrapping  him  in  a  warm  blanket,  when 
Gemma  came  in  with  a  tray  in  her  hands. 

"  Is  your  patient  ready  for  his  supper?  "  she 
asked,  smiling  at  the  strange  little  figure.  "  I 
have  been  cooking  it  for  him." 

The  Gadfly  stood  up  and  rolled  the  dirty  rags 
together.  "  I'm  afraid  we  have  made  a  terrible 
mess  in  your  room,"  he  said.  "  As  for  these,  they 
had  better  go  straight  into  the  fire,  and  I  will  buy 
him  some  new  clothes  to-morrow.  Have  you  any 
brandy  in  the  house,  signora?  I  think  he  ought 
to  have  a  little.  I  will  just  wash  my  hands,  if  you 
will  allow  me." 

When  the  child  had  finished  his  supper,  he  im- 
mediately went  to  sleep  in  the  Gadfly's  arms,  with 
his  rough  head  against  the  white  shirt-front. 
Gemma,  who  had  been  helping  Katie  to  set  the 
disordered  room  tidy  again,  sat  down  at  the  table. 

"  Signer  Rivarez,    you    must    take    something 


THE  GADFLY.  167 

before  you  go  home — you  had  hardly  any  dinner, 
and  it's  very  late." 

"  I  should  like  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  English  fash- 
ion, if  you  have  it.  I'm  sorry  to  keep  you  up  so 
late." 

"Oh!  that  doesn't  matter.  Put  the  child  down 
on  the  sofa;  he  will  tire  you.  Wait  a  minute;  I 
will  just  lay  a  sheet  over  the  cushions.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  him?  " 

"  To-morrow?  Find  out  whether  he  has  any 
other  relations  except  that  drunken  brute;  and 
if  not,  I  suppose  I  must  follow  Mme.  Reni's  ad- 
vice, and  take  him  to  the  Refuge.  Perhaps  the 
kindest  thing  to  do  would  be  to  put  a  stone  round 
his  neck  and  pitch  him  into  the  river  there;  but 
that  would  expose  me  to  unpleasant  consequences. 
Fast  asleep!  What  an  odd  little  lump  of  ill-luck 
you  are,  you  mite — not  half  as  capable  of  defend- 
ing yourself  as  a  stray  cat !  " 

When  Katie  brought  in  the  tea-tray,  the  boy 
opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up  with  a  bewildered  air. 
Recognizing  the  Gadfly,  whom  he  already  re- 
garded as  his  natural  protector,  he  wriggled  off 
the  sofa,  and,  much  encumbered  by  the  folds  of 
his  blanket,  came  up  to  nestle  against  him.  He 
was  by  now  sufficiently  revived  to  be  inquisitive; 
and,  pointing  to  the  mutilated  left  hand,  in  which 
the  Gadfly  was  holding  a  piece  of  cake,  asked: 
"What's  that?" 

"That?  Cake;  do  you  want  some?  I  think 
you've  had  enough  for  now.  Wait  till  to-morrow, 
little  man." 

"No—that!"  He  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
touched  the  stumps  of  the  amputated  fingers  and 
the  great  scar  on  the  wrist.  The  Gadfly  put  down 
his  cake. 


168  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Oh,  that!  It's  the  same  sort  of  thing  as  what 
you  have  on  your  shoulder — a  hit  I  got  from 
someone  stronger  than  I  was." 

"Didn't  it  hurt  awfully?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — not  more  than  other 
things.  There,  now,  go  to  sleep  again;  you  have 
no  business  asking  questions  at  this  time  of  night." 

When  the  carriage  arrived  the  boy  was  again 
asleep;  and  the  Gadfly,  without  awaking  him, 
lifted  him  gently  and  carried  him  out  on  to  the 
stairs. 

'  You  have  been  a  sort  of  ministering  angel  to 
me  to-day,"  he  said  to  Gemma,  pausing  at  the 
door.  "  But  I  suppose  that  need  not  prevent  us 
from  quarrelling  to  our  heart's  content  in  future." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  quarrel  with  anyone." 

"Ah!  but  I  have.  Life  would  be  unendurable 
without  quarrels.  A  good  quarrel  is  the  salt  of 
the  earth;  it's  better  than  a  variety  show!  " 

And  with  that  he  went  downstairs,  laughing 
softly  to  himself,  with  the  sleeping  child  in  his 
arms. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

ONE  day  in  the  first  week  of  January  Martini, 
who  had  sent  round  the  forms  of  invitation  to  the 
monthly  group-meeting  of  the  literary  committee, 
received  from  the  Gadfly  a  laconic,  pencil- 
scrawled  "Very  sorry;  can't  come."  He  was  a 
little  annoyed,  as  a  notice  of  "  important  busi- 
ness "  had  been  put  into  the  invitation;  this  cava- 
lier treatment  seemed  to  him  almost  insolent. 
Moreover,  three  separate  letters  containing  bad 
news  arrived  during  the  day,  and  the  wind  was  in 
the  east,  so  that  Martini  felt  out  of  sorts  and  out 


THE  GADFLY.  169 

of  temper;  and  when,  at  the  group  meeting,  Dr. 
Riccardo  asked,  "  Isn't  Rivarez  here? "  he  an- 
swered rather  sulkily:  "  No;  he  seems  to  have 
got  something  more  interesting  on  hand,  and 
can't  come,  or  doesn't  want  to." 

"  Really,  Martini,"  said  Galli  irritably,  "  you 
are  about  the  most  prejudiced  person  in  Florence. 
Once  you  object  to  a  man,  everything  he  does  is 
wrong.  How  could  Rivarez  come  when  he's  ill?  " 

"Who  told  you  he  was  ill?" 

"  Didn't  you  know?  He's  been  laid  up  for  the 
last  four  days." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He  had  to  put  off  an  appoint- 
ment with  me  on  Thursday  on  account  of  illness; 
and  last  night,  when  I  went  round,  I  heard  that 
he  was  too  ill  to  see  anyone.  I  thought  Riccardo 
would  be  looking  after  him." 

"  I  knew  nothing  about  it.  I'll  go  round  to- 
night and  see  if  he  wants  anything." 

The  next  morning  Riccardo,  looking  very  pale 
and  tired,  came  into  Gemma's  little  study.  She 
was  sitting  at  the  table,  reading  out  monotonous 
strings  of  figures  to  Martini,  who,  with  a  magnify- 
ing glass  in  one  hand  and  a  finely  pointed  pencil 
in  the  other,  was  making  tiny  marks  in  the  pages 
of  a  book.  She  made  with  one  hand  a  gesture  re- 
questing silence.  Riccardo,  knowing  that  a  per- 
son who  is  writing  in  cipher  must  not  be  inter- 
rupted, sat  down  on  the  sofa  behind  her  and 
yawned  like  a  man  who  can  hardly  keep  awake. 

"2,  4;  3,  7;  6,  i;  3,  5;  4,  i;"  Gemma's  voice 
went  on  with  machine-like  evenness.  "  8,  4;  7,  2; 
5,  i ;  that  finishes  the  sentence,  Cesare." 

She  stuck  a  pin  into  the  paper  to  mark  the 
exact  place,  and  turned  round. 


170  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Good-morning,  doctor;  how  fagged  you  look! 
Are  you  well?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  well  enough — only  tired  out.  I've 
had  an  awful  night  with  Rivarez." 

"  \Vith  Rivarez?  " 

"  Yes;  I've  been  up  with  him  all  night,  and  now 
I  must  go  off  to  my  hospital  patients.  I  just 
came  round  to  know  whether  you  can  think  of 
anyone  that  could  look  after  him  a  bit  for  the 
next  few  days.  He's  in  a  devil  of  a  state.  I'll  do 
my  best,  of  course;  but  I  really  haven't  the  time; 
and  he  won't  hear  of  my  sending  in  a  nurse." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him?  " 

"  Well,  rather  a  complication  of  things.  First 
of  all " 

"  First  of  all,  have  you  had  any  breakfast?  '' 

"  Yes,  thank  you.  About  Rivarez — no  doubt, 
it's  complicated  with  a  lot  of  nerve  trouble;  but 
the  main  cause  of  disturbance  is  an  old  injury 
that  seems  to  have  been  disgracefully  neglected. 
Altogether,  he's  in  a  frightfully  knocked-about 
state;  I  suppose  it  was  that  war  in  South  America 
— and  he  certainly  didn't  get  proper  care  when 
the  mischief  was  done.  Probably  things  were 
managed  in  a  very  rough-and-ready  fashion  out 
there;  he's  lucky  to  be  alive  at  all.  However, 
there's  a  chronic  tendency  to  inflammation,  and 
any  trifle  may  bring  on  an  attack " 

"  Is  that  dangerous?  " 

"  N-no;  the  chief  danger  in  a  case  of  that  kind 
is  of  the  patient  getting  desperate  and  taking  a 
dose  of  arsenic." 

"  It  is  very  painful,  of  course?  " 

"  It's  simply  horrible;  I  don't  know  how  he 
manages  to  bear  it.  I  was  obliged  to  stupefy  him 
with  opium  in  the  night — a  thing  I  hate  to  do 


THE  GADFLY.  171 

with  a  nervous  patient;  but  I  had  to  stop  it 
somehow." 

"  He  is  nervous,  I  should  think." 

"  Very,  but  splendidly  plucky.  As  long  as  he 
was  not  actually  light-headed  with  the  pain  last 
night,  his  coolness  was  quite  wonderful.  But  I 
had  an  awful  job  with  him  towards  the  end.  How 
long  do  you  suppose  this  thing  has  been  going 
on?  Just  five  nights;  and  not  a  soul  within  call 
except  that  stupid  landlady,  who  wouldn't  wake 
if  the  house  tumbled  down,  and  would  be  no  use 
if  she  did." 

"  But  what  about  the  ballet-girl?  " 

"  Yes;  isn't  that  a  curious  thing?  He  won't 
let  her  come  near  him.  He  has  a  morbid  horror  of 
her.  Altogether,  he's  one  of  the  most  incompre- 
hensible creatures  I  ever  met — a  perfect  mass  of 
contradictions." 

He  took  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it  with  a 
preoccupied  face.  "  I  shall  be  late  at  the  hospital; 
but  it  can't  be  helped.  The  junior  will  have  to 
begin  without  me  for  once.  I  wish  I  had  known 
of  all  this  before — it  ought  not  to  have  been  let 
go  on  that  way  night  after  night." 

"  But  why  on  earth  didn't  he  send  to  say  he 
was  ill?  "  Martini  interrupted.  "  He  might  have 
guessed  we  shouldn't  have  left  him  stranded  in 
that  fashion." 

"  I  wish,  doctor,"  said  Gemma,  "  that  you  had 
sent  for  one  of  us  last  night,  instead  of  wearing 
yourself  out  like  this." 

"  My  dear  lady,  I  wanted  to  send  round  to 
Galli;  but  Rivarez  got  so  frantic  at  the  sugges- 
tion that  I  didn't  dare  attempt  it.  When  I  asked 
him  whether  there  was  anyone  else  he  would  like 
fetched,  he  looked  at  me  for  a  minute,  as  if  he 


1 72  THE  GADFLY. 

were  scared  out  of  his  wits,  and  then  put  up  both 
hands  to  his  eyes  and  said:  '  Don't  tell  them; 
they  will  laugh! '  He  seemed  quite  possessed 
with  some  fancy  about  people  laughing  at  some- 
thing. I  couldn't  make  out  what;  he  kept  talk- 
ing Spanish;  but  patients  do  say  the  oddest  things 
sometimes." 

"  Who  is  with  him  now?  "  asked  Gemma. 

"  No  one  except  the  landlady  and  her  maid." 

"  I'll  go  to  him  at  once,"  said  Martini. 

"  Thank  you.  I'll  look  round  again  in  the 
evening.  You'll  find  a  paper  of  written  directions 
in  the  table-drawer  by  the  large  window,  and  the 
opium  is  on  the  shelf  in  the  next  room.  If  the 
pain  comes  on  again,  give  him  another  dose — not 
more  than  one;  but  don't  leave  the  bottle  where 
he  can  get  at  it,  whatever  you  do;  he  might  be 
tempted  to  take  too  much." 

When  Martini  entered  the  darkened  room,  the 
Gadfly  turned  his  head  round  quickly,  and,  hold- 
ing out  to  him  a  burning  hand,  began,  in  a  bad 
imitation  of  his  usual  flippant  manner: 

"  Ah,  Martini!  You  have  come  to  rout  me  out 
about  those  proofs.  It's  no  use  swearing  at  me 
for  missing  the  committee  last  night;  the  fact  is, 
I  have  not  been  quite  well,  and " 

"  Never  mind  the  committee.  I  have  just  seen 
Riccardo,  and  have  come  to  know  if  I  can  be  of 
any  use." 

The  Gadfly  set  his  face  like  a  flint. 

"  Oh,  really!  that  is  very  kind  of  you;  but  it 
wasn't  worth  the  trouble.  I'm  only  a  little  out 
of  sorts." 

"  So  I  understood  from  Riccardo.  He  was  up 
with  you  all  night,  I  believe." 

The  Gadfly  bit  his  lip  savagely. 


THE  GADFLY.  173 

"  I  am  quite  comfortable,  thank  you,  and  don't 
want  anything." 

"  Very  well;  then  I  will  sit  in  the  other  room; 
perhaps  you  would  rather  be  alone.  I  will  leave 
the  door  ajar,  in  case  you  call  me." 

"Please  don't  trouble  about  it;  I  really  shan't 
want  anything.  I  should  be  wasting  your  time  for 
nothing." 

"  Nonsense,  man ! "  Martini  broke  in  roughly. 
"  What's  the  use  of  trying  to  fool  me  that  way? 
Do  you  think  I  have  no  eyes?  Lie  still  and  go  to 
sleep,  if  you  can." 

He  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  and,  leaving 
the  door  open,  sat  down  with  a  book.  Presently 
he  heard  the  Gadfly  move  restlessly  two  or  three 
times.  He  put  down  his  book  and  listened. 
There  was  a  short  silence,  then  another  restless 
movement;  then  the  quick,  heavy,  panting  breath 
of  a  man  clenching  his  teeth  to  suppress  a  groan. 
He  went  back  into  the  room. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Rivarez?  " 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  crossed  the  room 
to  the  bed-side.  The  Gadfly,  with  a  ghastly,  livid 
face,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  silently 
shook  his  head. 

"  Shall  I  give  you  some  more  opium?  Riccardo 
said  you  were  to  have  it  if  the  pain  got  very  bad." 

"  No,  thank  you;  I  can  bear  it  a  bit  longer. 
It  may  be  worse  later  on." 

Martini  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sat  down 
beside  the  bed.  For  an  interminable  hour  he 
watched  in  silence;  then  he  rose  and  fetched  the 
opium. 

"  Rivarez,  I  won't  let  this  go  on  any  longer;  if 
you  can  stand  it,  I  can't.  You  must  have  the 
stuff." 


174  THE  GADFLY. 

The  Gadfly  took  it  without  speaking.  Then  he 
turned  away  and  closed  his  eyes.  Martini  sat 
down  again,  and  listened  as  the  breathing  became 
gradually  deep  and  even. 

The  Gadfly  was  too  much  exhausted  to  wrake 
easily  when  once  asleep.  Hour  after  hour  he  lay 
absolutely  motionless.  Martini  approached  him 
several  times  during  the  day  and  evening,  and 
looked  at  the  still  figure;  but,  except  the  breath- 
ing, there  was  no  sign  of  life.  The  face  was  so 
wan  and  colourless  that  at  last  a  sudden  fear  seized 
upon  him;  what  if  he  had  given  too  much  opium? 
The  injured  left  arm  lay  on  the  coverlet,  and  he 
shook  it  gently  to  rouse  the  sleeper.  As  he  did 
so,  the  unfastened  sleeve  fell  back,  showing  a 
series  of  deep  and  fearful  scars  covering  the  arm 
from  wrist  to  elbow. 

"  That  arm  must  have  been  in  a  pleasant  con- 
dition when  those  marks  were  fresh,"  said  Ric- 
cardo's  voice  behind  him. 

"Ah,  there  you  are  at  last!  Look  here, 
Riccardo;  ought  this  man  to  sleep  forever?  I 
gave  him  a  dose  about  ten  hours  ago,  and  he 
hasn't  moved  a  muscle  since." 

Riccardo  stooped  down  and  listened  for  a 
moment. 

"  No;  he  is  breathing  quite  properly;  it's  noth- 
ing but  sheer  exhaustion — what  you  might  expect 
after  such  a  night.  There  may  be  another 
paroxysm  before  morning.  Someone  will  sit  up, 
I  hope?" 

"  Galli  will;  he  has  sent  to  say  he  will  be  here 
by  ten." 

"  It's  nearly  that  now.  Ah,  he's  waking!  Just 
see  the  maidservant  gets  that  broth  hot.  Gently 


THE  GADFLY.  175 

— gently,  Rivarez!  There,  there,  you  needn't 
fight,  man;  I'm  not  a  bishop!  " 

The  Gadfly  started  up  with  a  shrinking,  scared 
look.  "Is  it  my  turn?"  he  said  hurriedly  in 
Spanish.  "  Keep  the  people  amused  a  minute; 
I Ah!  I  didn't  see  you,  Riccardo." 

He  looked  round  the  room  and  drew  one  hand 
across  his  forehead  as  if  bewildered.  "  Martini! 
Why,  I  thought  you  had  gone  away.  I  must  have 
been  asleep." 

"  You  have  been  sleeping  like  the  beauty  in  the 
fairy  story  for  the  last  ten  hours;  and  now  you  are 
to  have  some  broth  and  go  to  sleep  again." 

'  Ten  hours!  Martini,  surely  you  haven't  been 
here  all  that  time?  " 

"  Yes;  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  whether  I 
hadn't  given  you  an  overdose  of  opium." 

The  Gadfly  shot  a  sly  glance  at  him. 

"  No  such  luck!  Wouldn't  you  have  nice  quiet 
committee-meetings?  What  the  devil  do  you 
want,  Riccardo?  Do  for  mercy's  sake  leave  me  in 
peace,  can't  you?  I  hate  being  mauled  about  by 
doctors." 

"  Well  then,  drink  this  and  I'll  leave  you  in 
peace.  I  shall  come  round  in  a  day  or  two, 
though,  and  give  you  a  thorough  overhauling.  I 
think  you  have  pulled  through  the  worst  of  this 
business  now;  you  don't  look  quite  so  much  like 
a  death's  head  at  a  feast." 

"'  Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right  soon,  thanks.  Who's 
that — Galli?  I  seem  to  have  a  collection  of  all 
the  graces  here  to-night." 

"  I  have  come  to  stop  the  night  with  you." 

"  Nonsense!  I  don't  want  anyone.  Go  home, 
all  the  lot  of  you.  Even  if  the  thing  should  come 


i76  777E   GADFLY. 

on  again,  you  can't  help  me;  I  won't  keep  taking 
opium.  It's  all  very  well  once  in  a  way." 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  right,"  Riccarclo  said. 
"  But  that's  not  always  an  easy  resolution  to  stick 
to." 

The  Gadfly  looked  up,  smiling.  "  No  fear! 
If  I'd  been  going  in  for  that  sort  of  thing,  I  should 
have  done  it  long  ago." 

"  Anyway,  you  are  not  going  to  be  left  alone," 
Riccarclo  answered  drily.  "  Come  into  the  other 
room  a  minute,  Galli;  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
Good-night,  Rivarez;  I'll  look  in  to-morrow." 

Martini  was  following  them  out  of  the  room 
when  he  heard  his  name  softly  called.  The  Gad- 
fly was  holding  out  a  hand  to  him. 

"Thank  you!" 

"  Oh,  stuff!     Go  to  sleep." 

When  Riccardo  had  gone,  Martini  remained  a 
few  minutes  in  the  outer  room,  talking  with  Galli. 
As  he  opened  the  front  door  of  the  house  he  heard 
a  carriage  stop  at  the  garden  gate  and  saw  a 
woman's  figure  get  out  and  come  up  the  path.  It 
was  Zita,  returning,  evidently,  from  some  evening 
entertainment.  He  lifted  his  hat  and  stood  aside 
to  let  her  pass,  then  went  out  into  the  dark  lane 
leading  from  the  house  to  the  Poggio  Imperiale. 
Presently  the  gate  clicked  and  rapid  footsteps 
came  down  the  lane. 

"  Wait  a  minute!  "  she  said. 

When  he  turned  back  to  meet  her  she  stopped 
short,  and  then  came  slowly  towards  him,  drag- 
ging one  hand  after  her  along  the  hedge.  There 
was  a  single  street-lamp  at  the  corner,  and  he  saw 
by  its  light  that  she  was  hanging  her  head  down 
as  though  embarrassed  or  ashamed. 

"  How  is  he?  "  she  asked  without  looking  up. 


THE  GADFLY.  177 

"  Much  better  than  he  was  this  morning.  He 
has  been  asleep  most  of  the  day  and  seems  less 
exhausted.  I  think  the  attack  is  passing  over." 

She  still  kept  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"  Has  it  been  very  bad  this  time?  " 

"  About  as  bad  as  it  can  well  be,  I  should 
think." 

"  I  thought  so.  When  he  won't  let  me  come 
into  the  room,  that  always  means  it's  bad." 

"  Does  he  often  have  attacks  like  this?  " 

"  That  depends It's  so  irregular.  Last 

summer,  in  Switzerland,  he  was  quite  well;  but 
the  winter  before,  when  we  were  in  Vienna,  it  was 
awful.  He  wouldn't  let  me  come  near  him  for 
days  together.  He  hates  to  have  me  about  when 
he's  ill." 

She  glanced  up  for  a  moment,  and,  dropping  her 
eyes  again,  went  on: 

"  He  always  used  to  send  me  off  to  a  ball,  or 
concert,  or  something,  on  one  pretext  or  another, 
when  he  felt  it  coming  on.  Then  he  would  lock 
himself  into  his  room.  I  used  to  slip  back  and  sit 
outside  the  door — he  would  have  been  furious  if 
he'd  known.  He'd  let  the  dog  come  in  if  it 
whined,  but  not  me.  He  cares  more  for  it,  I 
think." 

There  was  a  curious,  sullen  defiance  in  her 
manner. 

"  Well,  I  hope  it  won't  be  so  bad  any  more," 
said  Martini  kindly.  "  Dr.  Riccardo  is  taking  the 
case  seriously  in  hand.  Perhaps  he  will  be  able  to 
make  a  permanent  improvement.  And,  in  any 
case,  the  treatment  gives  relief  at  the  moment. 
But  you  had  better  send  to  us  at  once,  another 
time.  He  would  have  suffered  very  much  less  if 
we  had  known  of  it  earlier.  Good-night!" 


1 78  THE  GADFLY. 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  she  drew  back  with 
a  quick  gesture  of  refusal. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  shake  hands  with 
his  mistress." 

"  As  you  like,  of  course,"  he  began  in  em- 
barrassment. 

She  stamped  her  foot  on  the  ground.  "  I  hate 
you!"  she  cried,  turning  on  him  with  eyes  like 
glowing  coals.  "  I  hate  you  all!  You  come  here 
talking  politics  to  him;  and  he  lets  you  sit  up  the 
night  with  him  and  give  him  things  to  stop  the 
pain,  and  I  daren't  so  much  as  peep  at  him  through 
the  door!  What  is  he  to  you?  What  right  have 
you  to  come  and  steal  him  away  from  me?  I  hate 
you!  I  hate  you!  I  hate  you!" 

She  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  sobbing,  and,  dart- 
ing back  into  the  garden,  slammed  the  gate  in  his 
face. 

"  Good  Heavens!  "  said  Martini  to  himself,  as  he 
walked  down  the  lane.  "  That  girl  is  actually 
in  love  with  him!  Of  all  the  extraordinary 
things " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  Gadfly's  recovery  was  rapid.  One  after- 
noon in  the  following  week  Riccardo  found  him 
lying  on  the  sofa  in  a  Turkish  dressing-gown, 
chatting  with  Martini  and  Galli.  He  even  talked 
about  going  downstairs;  but  Riccardo  merely 
laughed  at  the  suggestion  and  asked  whether  he 
would  like  a  tramp  across  the  valley  to  Fiesole  to 
start  with. 

'  You  might  go  and  call  on  the  Grassinis  for  a 
change,"  he  added  wickedly.     "  I'm  sure  maclame 


THE  GADFLY.  179 

would  be  delighted  to  see  you,  especially  now, 
when  you  look  so  pale  and  interesting." 

The  Gadfly  clasped  his  hands  with  a  tragic 
gesture. 

"  Bless  my  soul!  I  never  thought  of  that! 
She'd  take  me  for  one  of  Italy's  martyrs,  and  talk 
patriotism  to  me.  I  should  have  to  act  up  to  the 
part,  and  tell  her  I've  been  cut  to  pieces  in  an 
underground  dungeon  and  stuck  together  again 
rather  badly;  and  she'd  want  to  know  exactly  what 
the  process  felt  like.  You  don't  think  she'd  be- 
lieve it,  Riccardo?  I'll  bet  you  my  Indian  dagger 
against  the  bottled  tape-worm  in  your  den  that 
she'll  swallow  the  biggest  lie  I  can  invent.  That's 
a  generous  offer,  and  you'd  better  jump  at  it." 

'  Thanks,  I'm  not  so  fond  of  murderous  tools 
as  you  are." 

"  Well,  a  tape-worm  is  as  murderous  as  a  dagger, 
any  day,  and  not  half  so  pretty." 

"  But  as  it  happens,  my  dear  fellow,  I  don't 
want  the  dagger  and  I  do  want  the  tape-worm. 
Martini,  I  must  run  off.  Are  you  in  charge  of  this 
obstreperous  patient?  " 

"  Only  till  three  o'clock.  Galli  and  I  have  to  go 
to  San  Miniato,  and  Signora  Bolla  is  coming  till 
I  can  get  back." 

"  Signora  Bolla!  "  the  Gadfly  repeated  in  a  tone 
of  dismay.  "Why,  Martini,  this  will  never  do! 
I  can't  have  a  lady  bothered  over  me  and  my  ail- 
ments. Besides,  where  is  she  to  sit?  She  won't 
like  to  come  in  here." 

"  Since  when  have  you  gone  in  so  fiercely  for  the 
proprieties? "  asked  Riccardo,  laughing.  "  My 
good  man,  Signora  Bolla  is  head  nurse  in  general 
to  all  of  us.  She  has  looked  after  sick  people  ever 
since  she  was  in  short  frocks,  and  does  it  better 


i8o  THE  GADFLY. 

than  any  sister  of  mercy  I  know.  Won't  like  to 
come  into  your  room!  Why,  you  might  be  talk- 
ing of  the  Grassini  woman!  1  needn't  leave  any 
directions  if  she's  coming,  Martini.  Heart  alive, 
it's  half-past  two;  I  must  be  off!  " 

"  Now,  Rivarez,  take  your  physic  before  she 
comes,"  said  Galli,  approaching  the  sofa  with  a 
medicine  glass. 

"  Damn  the  physic!  "  The  Gadfly  had  reached 
the  irritable  stage  of  convalescence,  and  was  in- 
clined to  give  his  devoted  nurses  a  bad  time. 
"  W-what  do  you  want  to  d-d-dose  me  with  all 
sorts  of  horrors  for  now  the  pain  is  gone?  " 

"  Just  because  I  don't  want  it  to  come  back. 
You  wouldn't  like  it  if  you  collapsed  when  Signora 
Bolla  is  here  and  she  had  to  give  you  opium." 

"  My  g-good  sir,  if  that  pain  is  going  to  come 
back  it  will  come;  it's  not  a  t-toothache  to  be 
frightened  away  with  your  trashy  mixtures.  They 
are  about  as  much  use  as  a  t-toy  squirt  for  a  house 
on  fire.  However,  I  suppose  you  must  have  your 
way." 

He  took  the  glass  with  his  left  hand,  and  the 
sight  of  the  terrible  scars  recalled  Galli  to  the  for- 
mer subject  of  conversation. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  asked;  "  how  did  you  get  so 
much  knocked  about?  In  the  war,  was  it?" 

"  Now,  didn't  I  just  tell  you  it  was  a  case  of 
secret  dungeons  and " 

"  Yes,  that  version  is  for  Signora  Grassini's 
benefit.  Really,  I  suppose  it  was  in  the  war  with 
Brazil?" 

''Yes,  I  got  a  bit  hurt  there;  and  then  hunt- 
ing in  the  savage  districts  and  one  thing  and 
another." 

"  Ah,  yes;  on   the  scientific  expedition.     You 


THE  GADFLY.  181 

can  fasten  your  shirt;  I  have  quite  done.  You 
seem  to  have  had  an  exciting  time  of  it  out  there." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  can't  live  in  savage  coun- 
tries without  getting  a  few  adventures  once  in  a 
way,"  said  the  Gadfly  lightly;  "and  you  can 
hardly  expect  them  all  to  be  pleasant." 

"  Still,  I  don't  understand  how  you  managed  to 
get  so  much  knocked  about  unless  in  a  bad  adven- 
ture with  wild  beasts — those  scars  on  your  left 
arm,  for  instance." 

"  Ah,  that  was  in  a  puma-hunt.  You  see,  I  had 
fired " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Is  the  room  tidy,  Martini?  Yes?  Then  please 
open  the  door.  This  is  really  most  kind,  signora; 
you  must  excuse  my  not  getting  up." 

"  Of  course  you  mustn't  get  up;  I  have  not  come 
as  a  caller.  I  am  a  little  early,  Cesare.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  were  in  a  hurry  to  go." 

"  I  can  stop  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Let  me 
put  your  cloak  in  the  other  room.  Shall  I  tak« 
the  basket,  too?  " 

"  Take  care ;  those  are  new-laid  eggs.  Katie 
brought  them  in  from  Monte  Oliveto  this  morn- 
ing. There  are  some  Christmas  roses  for  you, 
Signer  Rivarez;  I  know  you  are  fond  of  flowers." 

She  sat  down  beside  the  table  and  began  clip- 
ping the  stalks  of  the  flowers  and  arranging  them 
in  a  vase. 

"  Well,  Rivarez,"  said  Galli;  "  tell  us  the  rest  of 
the  puma-hunt  story;  you  had  just  begun." 

"Ah,  yes!  Galli  was  asking  me  about  life  in 
South  America,  signora;  and  I  was  telling  him 
how  I  came  to  get  my  left  arm  spoiled.  It  was 
in  Peru.  We  had  been  wading  a  river  on  a  puma- 
hunt,  and  when  I  fired  at  the  beast  the  powder 


1 82  THE  GADFLY. 

wouldn't  go  off;  it  had  got  splashed  with  water. 
Naturally  the  puma  didn't  wait  for  me  to  rectify 
that;  and  this  is  the  result." 

"  That  must  have  been  a  pleasant  experience." 

"  Oh,  not  so  bad!  One  must  take  the  rough 
with  the  smooth,  of  course;  but  it's  a  splendid 
life  on  the  whole.  Serpent-catching,  for  in- 
stance  " 

He  rattled  on,  telling  anecdote  after  anecdote; 
now  of  the  Argentine  war,  now  of  the  Brazilian 
expedition,  now  of  hunting  feats  and  adventures 
with  savages  or  wild  beasts.  Galli,  with  the  de- 
light of  a  child  hearing  a  fairy  story,  kept  inter- 
rupting every  moment  to  ask  questions.  He  was 
of  the  impressionable  Neapolitan  temperament 
and  loved  everything  sensational.  Gemma  took 
some  knitting  from  her  basket  and  listened 
silently,  with  busy  fingers  and  downcast  eyes. 
Martini  frowned  and  fidgetted.  The  manner  in 
which  the  anecdotes  were  told  seemed  to  him 
boastful  and  self-conscious;  and,  notwithstanding 
his  unwilling  admiration  for  a  man  who  could 
endure  physical  pain  with  the.  amazing  fortitude 
which  he  had  seen  the  week  before,  he  genuinely 
disliked  the  Gadfly  and  all  his  works  and  ways. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  glorious  life!  "  sighed 
Galli  with  nai've  envy.  "  I  wonder  you  ever  made 
up  your  mind  to  leave  Brazil.  Other  countries 
must  seem  so  flat  after  it!  '' 

"  I  think  I  was  happiest  in  Peru  and  Ecuador," 
said  the  Gadfly.  "  That  really  is  a  magnificent 
tract  of  country.  Of  course  it  is  very  hot,  espe- 
cially the  coast  district  of  Ecuador,  and  one  has  to 
rough  it  a  bit;  but  the  scenery  is  superb  beyond 
imagination." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Galli,  "  the  perfect  freedom  of 


THE  GADFLY.  183 

life  in  a  barbarous  country  would  attract  me  more 
than  any  scenery.  A  man  must  feel  his  personal, 
human  dignity  as  he  can  never  feel  it  in  our 
crowded  towns." 

"  Yes,"  the  Gadfly  answered;  "  that  is " 

Gemma  raised  her  eyes  from  her  knitting  and 
looked  at  him.  He  flushed  suddenly  scarlet  and 
broke  off.  There  was  a  little  pause. 

"  Surely  it  is  not  come  on  again?  "  asked  Galli 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  nothing  to  speak  of,  thanks  to  your 
s-s-soothing  application  that  I  b-b-blasphemed 
against.  Are  you  going  already,  Martini?  " 

"Yes.     Come  along,  Galli;  we  shall  be  late." 

Gemma  followed  the  two  men  out  of  the  room, 
and  presently  returned  with  an  egg  beaten  up  in 
milk. 

"  Take  this,  please,"  she  said  with  mild  author- 
ity; and  sat  down  again  to  her  knitting.  The 
Gadfly  obeyed  meekly. 

For  half  an  hour,  neither  spoke.  Then  the  Gad- 
fly said  in  a  very  low  voice: 

"SignoraBolla!" 

She  looked  up.  He  was  tearing  the  fringe  of 
the  couch-rug,  and  kept  his  eyes  lowered. 

"  You  didn't  believe  I  was  speaking  the  truth 
just  now,"  he  began. 

"  I  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  that  you  were 
telling  falsehoods,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"  You  were  quite  right.  I  was  telling  false- 
hoods all  the  time." 

"  Do  you  mean  about  the  war?  " 

"  About  everything.  I  was  not  in  that  war  at 
all;  and  as  for  the  expedition,  I  had  a  few  adven- 
tures, of  course,  and  most  of  those  stones  are  true, 
but  it  was  not  that  way  I  got  smashed.  You  have 


1 84  THE   GADFLY. 

detected  me  in  one  lie,  so  I  may  as  well  confess  the 
lot,  I  suppose." 

"Does  it  not  seem  to  you  rather  a  waste  of 
energy  to  invent  so  many  falsehoods?"  she  asked. 
"  I  should  have  thought  it  was  hardly  worth  the 
trouble." 

*'  What  would  you  have?  You  know  your  own 
English  proverb:  '  Ask  no  questions  and  you'll  be 
told  no  lies.'  It's  no  pleasure  to  me  to  fool  people 
that  way,  but  I  must  answer  them  somehow  when 
they  ask  what  made  a  cripple  of  me ;  and  I  may  as 
well  invent  something  pretty  while  I'm  about  it. 
You  saw  how  pleased  Galli  was." 

"  Do  you  prefer  pleasing  Galli  to  speaking  the 
truth?" 

"The  truth!"  He  looked  up  with  the  torn 
fringe  in  his  hand.  "  You  wouldn't  have  me  tell 
those  people  the  truth?  I'd  cut  my  tongue  out 
first!"  Then  with  an  awkward,  shy  abruptness: 
"  I  have  never  told  it  to  anybody  yet;  but  I'll  tell 
you  if  you  care  to  hear." 

She  silently  laid  down  her  knitting.  To  her 
there  was  something  grievously  pathetic  in  this 
hard,  secret,  unlovable  creature,  suddenly  flinging 
his  personal  confidence  at  the  feet  of  a  woman 
whom  he  barely  knew  and  whom  he  apparently 
disliked. 

A  long  silence  followed,  and  she  looked  up. 
He  was  leaning  his  left  arm  on  the  little  table  be- 
side him,  and  shading  his  eyes  with  the  mutilated 
hand,  and  she  noticed  the  nervous  tension  of  the 
fingers  and  the  throbbing  of  the  scar  on  the  wrist. 
She  came  up  to  him  and  called  him  softly  by  name. 
He  started  violently  and  raised  his  head. 

"  I  f-forgot,"  he  stammered  apologetically.  "  I 
was  g-going  to  t-tell  you  about " 


THE  GADFLY.  185 

"  About  the — accident  or  whatever  it  was  that 
caused  your  lameness.  But  if  it  worries  you " 

"The  accident?  Oh,  the  smashing!  Yes; 
only  it  wasn't  an  accident,  it  was  a  poker." 

She  stared  at  him  in  blank  amazement.  He 
pushed  back  his  hair  with  a  hand  that  shook  per- 
ceptibly, and  looked  up  at  her,  smiling. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down?  Bring  your  chair  close, 
please.  I'm  so  sorry  I  can't  get  it  for  you. 
R-really,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  the  case  would 
have  been  a  p-perfect  t-treasure-trove  for  Riccardo 
if  he  had  had  me  to  treat;  he  has  the  true  sur- 
geon's love  for  broken  bones,  and  I  believe  every- 
thing in  me  that  was  breakable  was  broken  on  that 
occasion — except  my  neck." 

"  And  your  courage,"  she  put  in  softly.  "  But 
perhaps  you  count  that  among  your  unbreakable 
possessions." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  said;  "  my  cour- 
age has  been  mended  up  after  a  fashion,  with  the 
rest  of  me;  but  it  was  fairly  broken  then,  like  a 
smashed  tea-cup;  that's  the  horrible  part  of  it. 

Ah Yes;  well,  I  was  telling  you  about  the 

poker. 

"  It  was — let  me  see — nearly  thirteen  years  ago, 
in  Lima.  I  told  you  Peru  was  a  delightful  country 
to  live  in;  but  it's  not  quite  so  nice  for  people  that 
happen  to  be  at  low  water,  as  I  was.  I  had  been 
down  in  the  Argentine,  and  then  in  Chili,  tramp- 
ing the  country  and  starving,  mostly;  and  had 
come  up  from  Valparaiso  as  odd-man  on  a  cattle- 
boat.  I  couldn't  get  any  work  in  Lima  itself,  so  I 
went  down  to  the  docks, — they're  at  Callao,  you 
know, — to  try  there.  Well  of  course  in  all  those 
shipping-ports  there  are  low  quarters  where  the 
sea-faring  people  congregate;  and  after  some  time 


1 86  THE  GADFLY. 

I  got  taken  on  as  servant  in  one  of  the  gambling 
hells  there.  I  had  to  do  the  cooking  and  billiard- 
marking,  and  fetch  drink  for  the  sailors  and  their 
women,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Not  very 
pleasant  work;  still  I  was  glad  to  get  it;  there  was 
at  least  food  and  the  sight  of  human  faces  and 
sound  of  human  tongues — of  a  kind.  You  may 
think  that  was  no  advantage;  but  I  had  just  been 
down  with  yellow  fever,  alone  in  the  outhouse  of  a 
wretched  half-caste  shanty,  and  the  thing  had 
given  me  the  horrors.  Well,  one  night  I  was  told 
to  put  out  a  tipsy  Lascar  who  was  making  himself 
obnoxious;  he  had  come  ashore  and  lost  all  his 
money  and  was  in  a  bad  temper.  Of  course  I  had 
to  obey  if  I  didn't  want  to  lose  my  place  and 
starve;  but  the  man  was  twice  as  strong  as  I — I 
was  not  twenty-one  and  as  weak  as  a  cat  after  the 
fever.  Besides,  he  had  the  poker." 

He  paused ja  moment,  glancing  furtively  at  her; 
then  went  on: 

"  Apparently  he  intended  to  put  an  end  to  me 
altogether;  but  somehow  he  managed  to  scamp 
his  work — Lascars  always  do  if  they  have  a 
chance;  and  left  just  enough  of  me  not  smashed  to 
go  on  living  with." 

"  Yes,  but  the  other  people,  could  they  not 
interfere?  Were  they  all  afraid  of  one  Lascar?  " 

He  looked  up  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  The  other  people':'  The  gamblers  and  the 
people  of  the  house?  Why,  you  don't  understand! 
They  were  negroes  and  Chinese  and  Heaven  knows 
what;  and  I  was  their  servant — their  property. 
They  stood  round  and  enjoyed  the  fun,  of  course. 
That  sort  of  thing  counts  for  a  good  joke  out 
there.  So  it  is  if  you  don't  happen  to  be  the  sub- 
ject practised  on." 


THE  GADFLY.  187 

She  shuddered. 

"  Then  what  was  the  end  of  it?  " 
'  That  I  can't  tell  you  much  about;  a  man 
doesn't  remember  the  next  few  days  after  a  thing 
of  that  kind,  as  a  rule.  But  there  was  a  ship's  sur- 
geon near,  and  it  seems  that  when  they  found  I 
was  not  dead,  somebody  called  him  in  He 
patched  me  up  after  a  fashion — Riccardo  seems  to 
think  it  was  rather  badly  done,  but  that  may  be 
professional  jealousy.  Anyhow,  when  I  came  to 
my  senses,  an  old  native  woman  had  taken  me  in 
for  Christian  charity — that  sounds  queer,  doesn't 
it?  She  used  to  sit  huddled  up  in  the  corner  of 
the  hut,  smoking  a  black  pipe  and  spitting  on  the 
floor  and  crooning  to  herself.  However,  she 
meant  well,  and  she  told  me  I  might  die  in  peace 
and  nobody  should  disturb  me.  But  the  spirit  of 
contradiction  was  strong  in  me  and  I  elected  to 
live.  It  was  rather  a  difficult  job  scrambling  back 
to  life,  and  sometimes  I  am  inclined  to  think  it 
was  a  great  deal  of  cry  for  very  little  wool.  Any- 
way that  old  woman's  patience  was  wonderful; 
she  kept  me — how  long  was  it? — nearly  four 
months  lying  in  her  hut,  raving  like  a  mad  thing  at 
intervals,  and  as  vicious  as  a  bear  with  a  sore  ear 
between-whiles.  The  pain  was  pretty  bad,  you 
see,  and  my  temper  had  been  spoiled  in  childhood 
with  overmuch  coddling." 

"And  then?" 

"  Oh,  then — I  got  up  somehow  and  crawled 
away.  No,  don't  think  it  was  any  delicacy  about 
taking  a  poor  woman's  charity — I  was  past  caring 
for  that ;  it  was  only  that  I  couldn't  bear  the  place 
any  longer.  You  talked  just  now  about  my  cour- 
age; if  you  had  seen  me  then!  The  worst  of  the 
pain  used  to  come  on  every  evening,  about  dusk; 


,88  THE  GADFLY. 

and  in  the  afternoon  I  used  to  lie  alone,  and  watch 
the  sun  get  lower  and  lower—  Oh,  you  can't 
understand!  It  makes  me  sick  to  look  at  a  sun- 
set now!  " 

A  long  pause. 

"  Well,  then  I  went  up  country,  to  see  if  I  could 
get  work  anywhere — it  would  have  driven  me  mad 
to  stay  in  Lima.  I  got  as  far  as  Cuzco,  and 

there Really  I  don't  know  why  I'm  inflicting 

all  this  ancient  history  on  you;  it  hasn't  even  the 
merit  of  being  funny." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  deep 
and  serious  eyes.  "  Please  don't  talk  that  way," 
she  said. 

He  bit  his  lip  and  tore  off  another  piece  of  the 
rug-fringe. 

"  Shall  I  go  on?  "  he  asked  after  a  moment. 

"  If — if  you  will.  I  am  afraid  it  is  horrible  to 
you  to  remember." 

"  Do  you  think  I  forget  when  I  hold  my  tongue? 
It's  worse  then.  But  don't  imagine  it's  the  thing 
itself  that  haunts  me  so.  It  is  the  fact  of  having 
lost  the  power  over  myself." 

"  I — don't  think  I  quite  understand." 

"  I  mean,  it  is  the  fact  of  having  come  to  the 
end  of  my  courage,  to  the  point  where  I  found 
myself  a  coward." 

"  Surely  there  is  a  limit  to  what  anyone  can 
bear." 

'Yes;  and  the  man  who  has  once  reached 
that  limit  never  knows  when  he  may  reach  it 
again." 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  she  asked,  hesi- 
tating, "  how  you  came  to  be  stranded  out  there 
alone  at  twenty?  " 

"Very  simply:  I  had  a  good  opening  in  life,  at 
home  in  the  old  country,  and  ran  away  from  it." 


THE  GADFLY.  189 

"  Why?  " 

He  laughed  again  in  his  quick,  harsh  way. 

"  Why?  Because  I  was  a  priggish  young  cub, 
I  suppose.  I  had  been  brought  up  in  an  over- 
luxurious  home,  and  coddled  and  faddled  after  till 
I  thought  the  world  was  made  of  pink  cotton-wool 
and  sugared  almonds.  Then  one  fine  day  I  found 
out  that  someone  I  had  trusted  had  deceived  me. 
Why,  how  you  start!  What  is  it?  " 

"  Nothing.     Go  on,  please." 

"  I  found  out  that  I  had  been  tricked  into  believ- 
ing a  lie;  a  common  bit  of  experience,  of  course; 
but,  as  I  tell  you,  I  was  young  and  priggish,  and 
thought  that  liars  go  to  hell.  So  I  ran  away  from 
home  and  plunged  into  South  America  to  sink  or 
swim  as  I  could,  without  a  cent  in  my  pocket  or  a 
word  of  Spanish  in  my  tongue,  or  anything  but 
white  hands  and  expensive  habits  to  get  my  bread 
with.  And  the  natural  result  was  that  I  got  a  dip 
into  the  real  hell  to  cure  me  of  imagining  sham 
ones.  A  pretty  thorough  dip,  too — it  was  just 
five  years  before  the  Duprez  expedition  came 
along  and  pulled  me  out." 

"  Five  years!  Oh,  that  is  terrible!  And  had 
you  no  friends?  " 

"  Friends!  I  " — he  turned  on  her  with  sudden 
fierceness — "  I  have  tuver  had  a  friend!  " 

The  next  instant  he  seemed  a  little  ashamed  of 
his  vehemence,  and  went  on  quickly: 

"  You  mustn't  take  all  this  too  seriously;  I  dare 
say  I  made  the  worst  of  things,  and  really  it  wasn't 
so  bad  the  first  year  and  a  half;  I  was  young  and 
strong  and  I  managed  to  scramble  along  fairly 
well  till  the  Lascar  put  his  mark  on  me.  But  after 
that  I  couldn't  get  work.  It's  wonderful  what  an 
effectual  tool  a  poker  is  if  you  handle  it  properly; 
and  nobody  cares  to  employ  a  cripple." 


190  THE  GADFLY. 

"  What  sort  of  work  did  you  do?  " 

"  What  I  could  get.  For  some  time  I  lived  by 
odd-jobbing  for  the  blacks  on  the  sugar  planta- 
tions, fetching  and  carrying  and  so  on.  It's  one  of 
the  curious  things  in  life,  by  the  way,  that  slaves 
always  contrive  to  have  a  slave  of  their  own,  and 
there's  nothing  a  negro  likes  so  much  as  a  white 
fag  to  bully.  But  it  was  no  use;  the  overseers 
always  turned  me  off.  I  was  too  lame  to  be 
quick;  and  I  couldn't  manage  the  heavy  loads. 
And  then  I  was  always  getting  these  attacks 
of  inflammation,  or  whatever  the  confounded 
thing  is. 

"  After  some  time  I  went  down  to  the  silver- 
mines  and  tried  to  get  work  there;  but  it  was  all 
no  good.  The  managers  laughed  at  the  very 
notion  of  taking  me  on,  and  as  for  the  men,  they 
made  a  dead  set  at  me." 

"Why  was  that?" 

"  Oh,  human  nature,  I  suppose;  they  saw  I  had 
only  one  hand  that  I  could  hit  back  with.  They're 
a  mangy,  half-caste  lot;  negroes  and  Zambos 
mostly.  And  then  those  horrible  coolies!  So  at 
last  I  got  enough  of  that,  and  set  off  to  tramp  the 
country  at  random;  just  wandering  about,  on  the 
chance  of  something  turning  up." 

"  To  tramp?     With  that  lame  foot!  " 

He  looked  up  with  a  sudden,  piteous  catching 
of  the  breath. 

"  I — I  was  hungry,"  he  said. 

She  turned  her  head  a  little  away  and  rested  her 
chin  on  one  hand.  After  a  moment's  silence  he 
began  again,  his  voice  sinking  lower  and  lower  as 
he  spoke: 

"  Well,  I  tramped,  and  tramped,  till  I  was  nearly 
mad  with  tramping,  and  nothing  came  of  it-  I 


THE  GADFLY.  191 

got  down  into  Ecuador,  and  there  it  was  worse 
than  ever.  Sometimes  I'd  get  a  bit  of  tinkering 
to  do, — I'm  a  pretty  fair  tinker, — or  an  errand  to 
run,  or  a  pigstye  to  clean  out;  sometimes  I 
did — oh,  I  hardly  know  what.  And  then  at  last, 
one  day " 

The  slender,  brown  hand  clenched  itself  sud- 
denly on  the  table,  and  Gemma,  raising  her  head, 
glanced  at  him  anxiously.  His  side-face  was 
turned  towards  her,  and  she  could  see  a  vein  on 
the  temple  beating  like  a  hammer,  with  quick, 
irregular  strokes.  She  bent  forward  and  laid  a 
gentle  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Never  mind  the  rest;  it's  almost  too  horrible 
to  talk  about." 

He  stared  doubtfully  at  the  hand,  shook  his 
head,  and  went  on  steadily: 

"  Then  one  day  I  met  a  travelling  variety  show. 
You  remember  that  one  the  other  night;  well,  that 
sort  of  thing,  only  coarser  and  more  indecent. 
The  Zambos  are  not  like  these  gentle  Florentines; 
they  don't  care  for  anything  that  is  not  foul  or 
brutal.  There  was  bull-fighting,  too,  of  course. 
They  had  camped  out  by  the  roadside  for  the 
night;  and  I  went  up  to  their  tent  to  beg.  Well, 
the  weather  was  hot  and  I  was  half  starved,  and 
so — I  fainted  at  the  door  of  the  tent.  I  had  a 
trick  of  fainting  suddenly  at  that  time,  like  a 
boarding-school  girl  with  tight  stays.  So  they 
took  me  in  and  gave  me  brandy,  and  food,  and  so 
on;  and  then — the  next  morning — they  offered 
me 

Another  pause. 

"  They  wanted  a  hunchback,  or  monstrosity  of 
some  kind,  for  the  boys  to  pelt  with  orange-peel 
and  banana-skins — something  to  set  the  blacks 


*92  THE  GADFLY. 

laughing You  saw  the  clown  that  night-- 
well, I  was  that — for  two  years.  I  suppose  you 
have  a  humanitarian  feeling  about  negroes  and 
Chinese.  Wait  till  you've  been  at  their  mercy! 

"  Well,  I  learned  to  do  the  tricks.  I  was  not 
quite  deformed  enough;  but  they  set  that  right 
with  an  artificial  hump  and  made  the  most  of  this 
foot  and  arm And  the  Zambos  are  not  criti- 
cal; they're  easily  satisfied  if  only  they  can  get 
hold  of  some  live  thing  to  torture — the  fool's  dress 
makes  a  good  deal  of  difference,  too. 

"  The  only  difficulty  was  that  I  was  so  often  ill 
and  unable  to  play.  Sometimes,  if  the  manager 
was  out  of  temper,  he  would  insist  on  my  coming 
into  the  ring  when  I  had  these  attacks  on;  and  I 
believe  the  people  liked  those  evenings  best. 
Once,  I  remember,  I  fainted  right  off  with  the  pain 
in  the  middle  of  the  performance —  When  I 
came  to  my  senses  again,  the  audience  had  got 
round  me — hooting  and  yelling  and  pelting  me 
with " 

"Don't!  I  can't  hear  any  more!  Stop,  for 
God's  sake!" 

She  was  standing  up  with  both  hands  over  her 
ears.  He  broke  off,  and,  looking  up,  saw  the 
glitter  of  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Damn  it  all,  what  an  idiot  I  am!"  he  said 
under  his  breath. 

She  crossed  the  room  and  stood  for  a  little  while 
looking  out  of  the  window.  When  she  turned 
round,  the  Gadfly  was  again  leaning  on  the  table 
and  covering  his  eyes  with  one  hand.  He  had  evi- 
dently forgotten  her  presence,  and  she  sat  down 
beside  him  without  speaking.  After  a  long  silence 
she  said  slowly: 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 


THE  GADFLY.  193 

"  Yes?  "  without  moving. 

"  Why  did  you  not  cut  your  throat?  " 

He  looked  up  in  grave  surprise.  "  I  did  not  ex- 
pect you  to  ask  that,"  he  said.  "  And  what  about 
my  work?  Who  would  have  done  it  for  me?  " 

"  Your  work Ah,  I  see!  You  talked  just 

now  about  being  a  coward ;  well,  if  you  have  come 
through  that  and  kept  to  your  purpose,  you  are 
the  very  bravest  man  that  I  have  ever  met." 

He  covered  his  eyes  again,  and  held  her  hand  in 
a  close  passionate  clasp.  A  silence  that  seemed  to 
have  no  end  fell  around  them. 

Suddenly  a  clear  and  fresh  soprano  voice  rang 
out  from  the  garden  below,  singing  a  verse  of  a 
doggerel  French  song: 

"  Eh,  Pierrot !  Danse,  Pierrdt ! 

Danse  un  peu,  mon  pauvre  Jeannot ! 
Vive  la  danse  et  1'allegresse  ! 
Jouissons  de  notre  bell*  jeunesse  ! 
Si  moi  je  pleure  ou  moi  je  soupire, 
Si  moi  je  fais  la  triste  figure — 
Monsieur,  ce  n'est  que  pour  rire ! 
Ha!  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Monsieur,  ce  n'est  que  pour  rire  !  " 

At  the  first  words  the  Gadfly  tore  his  hand  from 
Gemma's  and  shrank  away  with  a  stifled  groan. 
She  clasped  both  hands  round  his  arm  and  pressed 
it  firmly,  as  she  might  have  pressed  that  of  a  per- 
son undergoing  a  surgical  operation.  When  the 
song  broke  off  and  a  chorus  of  laughter  and  ap- 
plause came  from  the  garden,  he  looked  up  with 
the  eyes  of  a  tortured  animal. 

"Yes,  it  is  Zita,"  he  said  slowly;  "with  her 
officer  friends.  She  tried  to  come  in  here  the 
other  night,  before  Riccardo  came.  I  should  have 
gone  mad  if  she  had  touched  me!  " 


194  THE  GADFLY. 

"  But  she  does  not  know,"  Gemma  protested 
softly.  "  She  cannot  guess  that  she  is  hurting 
you." 

"  She  is  like  a  Creole,"  he  answered,  shuddering. 
"  Do  you  remember  her  face  that  night  when  we 
brought  in  the  beggar-child?  That  is  how  the 
half-castes  look  when  they  laugh." 

Another  burst  of  laughter  came  from  the  garden. 
Gemma  rose  and  opened  the  window.  Zita,  with 
a  gold-embroidered  scarf  wound  coquettishly 
round  her  head,  was  standing  in  the  garden  path, 
holding  up  a  bunch  of  violets,  for  the  possession 
of  which  three  young  cavalry  officers  appeared 
to  be  competing. 

"  Mine.  Reni!  "  said  Gemma. 

Zita's  face  darkened  like  a  thunder-cloud. 
"  Madame? "  she  said,  turning  and  raising  her 
eyes  with  a  defiant  look. 

"  Would  your  friends  mind  speaking  a  little 
more  softly?  Signer  Rivarez  is  very  unwell." 

The  gipsy  flung  down  her  violets.  "  Allez- 
vous  en!  "  she  said,  turning  sharply  on  the  aston- 
ished officers.  "  Vous  m'embetez,  messieurs!  " 

She  went  slowly  out  into  the  road.  Gemma 
closed  the  window. 

"  They  have  gone  away,"  she  said,  turning  to 
him. 

"  Thank  you.  I — I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled 
you." 

"  It  was  no  trouble."  He  at  once  detected  the 
hesitation  in  her  voice. 

"'But?'  '  he  said.  "That  sentence  was  not 
finished,  signora;  there  was  an  unspoken  '  but  '  in 
the  back  of  your  mind." 

"  If  you  look  into  the  backs  of  people's  minds, 
you  mustn't  be  offended  at  what  you  read  there. 


THE  GADFLY.  195 

It  is  not  my  affair,  of  course,  but  I  cannot  under- 
stand  " 

"  My  aversion  to  Mme.  Reni?  It  is  only 
when " 

"  No,  your  caring  to  live  with  her  when  you  feel 
that  aversion.  It  seems  to  me  an  insult  to  her  as 
a  woman  and  as " 

"  A  woman!  "  He  burst  out  laughing  harshly. 
"  Is  that  what  you  call  a  woman?  '  Madame,  ce 
n'est  que  pour  rire! ' 

"  That  is  not  fair!  "  she  said.  "  You  have  no 
right  to  speak  of  her  in  that  way  to  anyone — 
especially  to  another  woman!" 

He  turned  away,  and  lay  with  wide-open  eyes, 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  sinking  sun.  She 
lowered  the  blind  and  closed  the  shutters,  that  he 
might  not  see  it  set;  then  sat  down  at  the  table 
by  the  other  window  and  took  up  her  knitting 
again. 

"  Would  you  like  the  lamp?  "  she  asked  after  a 
moment. 

He  shook  his  head. 

When  it  grew  too  dark  to  see,  Gemma  rolled  up 
her  knitting  and  laid  it  in  the  basket.  For  some 
time  she  sat  with  folded  hands,  silently  watching 
the  Gadfly's  motionless  figure.  The  dim  evening 
light,  falling  on  his  face,  seemed  to  soften  away  its 
hard,  mocking,  self-assertive  look,  and  to  deepen 
the  tragic  lines  about  the  mouth.  By  some  fanci- 
ful association  of  ideas  her  memory  went  vividly 
back  to  the  stone  cross  which  her  father  had  set 
up  in  memory  of  Arthur,  and  to  its  inscription: 

"  All  thy  waves  and  billows  have  gone  over  me." 

An  hour  passed  in  unbroken  silence.  At  last 
she  rose  and  went  softly  out  of  the  room.  Com- 
ing back  with  a  lamp,  she  paused  for  a  moment, 


r96  THE  GADFLY. 

thinking  that  the  Gadfly  was  asleep.  As  the  light 
fell  on  his  face  he  turned  round. 

"  I  have  made  you  a  cup  of  coffee,"  she  said, 
setting  down  the  lamp. 

"  Put  it  down  a  minute.  Will  you  come  here, 
please." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
quite  right;  it  is  an  ugly  tangle  I  have  got  my  life 
into.  But  remember,  a  man  does  not  meet  every 
day  a  woman  whom  he  can — love;  and  I — I  have 
been  in  deep  waters.  I  am  afraid " 

"  Afraid " 

"  OT  the  dark.  Sometimes  I  dare  not  be  alone 
at  night.  I  must  have  something  living — some- 
thing solid  beside  me.  It  is  the  outer  darkness, 
where  shall  be—  No,  no!  It's  not  that;  that's 
a  sixpenny  toy  hell; — it's  the  inner  darkness. 
There's  no  weeping  or  gnashing  of  teeth  there; 
only  silence — silence 

His  eyes  dilated.  She  was  quite  still,  hardly 
breathing  till  he  spoke  again. 

"  This  is  all  mystification  to  you,  isn't  it?  You 
can't  understand — luckily  for  you.  What  I  mean 
is  that  I  have  a  pretty  fair  chance  of  going  mad  if 

I  try  to  live  quite  alone Don't  think  too 

hardly  of  me,  if  you  can  help  it;  I  am  not  alto- 
gether the  vicious  brute  you  perhaps  imagine  me 
to  be." 

"  I  cannot  try  to  judge  for  you,"  she  answered. 
"  I  have  not  suffered  as  you  have.  But — I  have 
been  in  rather  deep  water  too,  in  another  way;  and 
I  think — I  am  sure — that  if  you  let  the  fear  of  any- 
thing drive  you  to  do  a  really  cruel  or  unjust  or 
ungenerous  thing,  you  will  regret  it  afterwards. 
For  the  rest — if  you  have  failed  in  this  one  thing, 


THE  GADFLY.  197 

I  know  that  I,  in  your  place,  should  have  failed 
altogether, — should  have  cursed  God  and  died." 

He  still  kept  her  hands  in  his. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  very  softly;  "  have  you  ever 
in  your  life  done  a  really  cruel  thing?  " 

She  did  not  answer,  but  her  head  sank  down, 
and  two  great  tears  fell  on  his  hand. 

"  Tell  me!  "  he  whispered  passionately,  clasping 
her  hands  tighter.  "Tell  me!  I  have  told  you 
all  my  misery." 

"  Yes, — once, — long  ago.  And  I  did  it  to  the 
person  I  loved  best  in  the  world." 

The  hands  that  clasped  hers  were  trembling  vio- 
lently; but  they  did  not  loosen  their  hold. 

"  He  was  a  comrade,"  she  went  on;  "  and  I  be- 
lieved a  slander  against  him, — a  common  glaring 
lie  that  the  police  had  invented.  I  struck  him  in 
the  face  for  a  traitor;  and  he  went  away  and 
drowned  himself.  Then,  two  days  later,  I  found 
out  that  he  had  been  quite  innocent.  Perhaps 
that  is  a  worse  memory  than  any  of  yours.  I 
would  cut  off  my  right  hand  to  undo  what  it  has 
done." 

Something  swift  and  dangerous — something 
that  she  had  not  seen  before, — flashed  into  his 
eyes.  He  bent  his  head  down  with  a  furtive,  sud- 
den gesture  and  kissed  the  hand. 

She  drew  back  with  a  startled  face.  "  Don't!  " 
she  cried  out  piteously.  "  Please  don't  ever  do 
that  again!  You  hurt  me!  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  didn't  hurt  the  man  you 
killed?" 

"  The  man  I — killed—  Ah,  there  is  Cesare 
at  the  gate  at  last!  I — I  must  go!  " 

When  Martini  came  into  the  room  he  found  the 


198  THE  GADFLY. 

Gadfly  lying  alone  with  the  untouched  coffee  be- 
side him,  swearing  softly  to  himself  in  a  languid, 
spiritless  way,  as  though  he  got  no  satisfaction 
out  of  it. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A  FEW  days  later,  the  Gadfly,  still  rather  pale  and 
limping  more  than  usual,  entered  the  reading 
room  of  the  public  library  and  asked  for  Cardinal 
Montanelli's  sermons.  Riccardo,  who  was  read- 
ing at  a  table  near  him,  looked  up.  He  liked  the 
Gadfly  very  much,  but  could  not  digest  this  one 
trait  in  him — this  curious  personal  maliciousness. 

"  Are  you  preparing  another  volley  against  that 
unlucky  Cardinal?  "  he  asked  half  irritably. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  why  do  you  a-a-always  at- 
tribute evil  m-m-motives  to  people?  It's  m-most 
unchristian.  I  am  preparing  an  essay  on  contem- 
porary theology  for  the  n-n-new  paper." 

"  What  new  paper? "  Riccardo  frowned.  It 
was  perhaps  an  open  secret  that  a  new  press-law 
was  expected  and  that  the  Opposition  was  pre- 
paring to  astonish  the  town  with  a  radical  news- 
paper; but  still  it  was,  formally,  a  secret. 

"  The  Szi'indlers'  Gazette,  of  course,  or  the 
Church  Calendar."  ' 

"Sh-sh!  Rivarez,  we  are  disturbing  the  other 
readers." 

"  Well  then,  stick  to  your  surgery,  if  that's 
your  subject,  and  1-1-leave  me  to  th-theology— 
that's  mine.  I  d-d-don't  interfere  with  your 
treatment  of  broken  bones,  though  I  know  a 
p-p-precious  lot  more  about  them  than  you  do." 

He  sat  down  to  his  volume  of  sermons  with  an 


THE  GADFLY.  199 

intent  and  preoccupied  face.  One  of  the  librari- 
ans came  up  to  him. 

"  Signor  Rivarez!  I  think  you  were  in  the 
Duprez  expedition,  exploring  the  tributaries  of  the 
Amazon?  Perhaps  you  will  kindly  help  us  in  a 
difficulty.  A  lady  has  been  inquiring  for  the 
records  of  the  expedition,  and  they  are  at  the 
binder's." 

"  What  does  she  want  to  know?  " 

"  Only  in  what  year  the  expedition  started  and 
when  it  passed  through  Ecuador." 

"  It  started  from  Paris  in  the  autumn  of  1837, 
and  passed  through  Quito  in  April,  1838.  We 
were  three  years  in  Brazil;  then  went  down  to  Rio 
and  got  back  to  Paris  in  the  summer  of  1841. 
Does  the  lady  want  the  dates  of  the  separate 
discoveries?  " 

"  No,  thank  you;  only  these.  I  have  written 
them  down.  Beppo,  take  this  paper  to  Signora 
Bolla,  please.  Many  thanks,  Signor  Rivarez.  I 
am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you." 

The  Gadfly  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  per- 
plexed frown.  What  did  she  want  the  dates  for? 
When  they  passed  through  Ecuador 

Gemma  went  home  with  the  slip  of  paper  in  her 
hand.  April,  1838 — and  Arthur  had  died  in  May, 
1833.  Five  years 

She  began  pacing  up  and  down  her  room.  She 
had  slept  badly  the  last  few  nights,  and  there  were 
dark  shadows  under  her  eyes. 

Five  years; — and  an  "  over-luxurious  home" — 
and  "  someone  he  had  trusted  had  deceived  him  " 
— had  deceived  him — and  he  had  found  it  out 

She  stopped  and  put  up  both  hands  to  her  head. 
Oh,  this  was  utterly  mad — it  was  not  possible — it 
was  absurd 


2oo  THE  GADFLY. 

And  yet,  how  they  had  dragged  that  harbour! 

Five  years — and  he  was  "  not  twenty-one " 
when  the  Lascar —  Then  he  must  have  been 
nineteen  when  he  ran  away  from  home.  Had  he 
not  said:  "  A  year  and  a  half—  Where  did  he 

get  those  blue  eyes  from,  and  that  nervous  rest- 
lessness of  the  ringers?  And  why  was  he  so  bitter 
against  Montanelli?  Five  years — five  years — 

If  she  could  but  know  that  he  was  drowned — if 
she  could  but  have  seen  the  body;  some  day, 
surely,  the  old  wound  would  have  left  off  aching, 
the  old  memory  would  have  lost  its  terrors.  Per- 
haps in  another  twenty  years  she  would  have 
learned  to  look  back  without  shrinking. 

All  her  youth  had  been  poisoned  by  the  thought 
of  what  she  had  done.  Resolutely,  day  after  day 
and  year  after  year,  she  had  fought  against  the 
demon  of  remorse.  Always  she  had  remembered 
that  her  work  lay  in  the  future;  always  had  shut 
her  eyes  and  ears  to  the  haunting  spectre  of  the 
past.  And  day  after  day,  year  after  year,  the 
image  of  the  drowned  body  drifting  out  to  sea  had 
never  left  her,  and  the  bitter  cry  that  she  could  not 
silence  had  risen  in  her  heart:  "  I  have  killed 
Arthur!  Arthur  is  dead!"  Sometimes  it  had 
seemed  to  her  that  her  burden  was  too  heavy  to 
be  borne. 

Now  she  would  have  given  half  her  life  to  have 
that  burden  back  again.  If  she  had  killed  him— 
that  was  a  familiar  grief;  she  had  endured  it  too 
long  to  sink  under  it  now.  But  if  she  had  driven 
him,  not  into  the  water  but  into —  She  sat 
down,  covering  her  eyes  with  both  hands.  And 
her  life  had  been  darkened  for  his  sake,  because  he 
was  dead!  If  she  had  brought  upon  him  nothing 
worse  than  death 


THE  GADFLY.  201 

Steadily,  pitilessly  she  went  back,  step  by  step, 
through  the  hell  of  his  past  life.  It  was  as  vivid 
to  her  as  though  she  had  seen  and  felt  it  all;  the 
helpless  shivering  of  the  naked  soul,  the  mock- 
ery that  was  bitterer  than  death,  the  horror  of 
loneliness,  the  slow,  grinding,  relentless  agony.  It 
was  as  vivid  as  if  she  had  sat  beside  him  in  the 
filthy  Indian  hut;  as  if  she  had  suffered  with  him  in 
the  silver-mines,  the  coffee  fields,  the  horrible 
variety  show 

The  variety  show No,  she  must  shut  out 

that  image,  at  least;  it  was  enough  to  drive  one 
mad-to  sit  and  think  of  it. 

She  opened  a  little  drawer  in  her  writing-desk. 
It  contained  the  few  personal  relics  which  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  destroy.  She  was 
not  given  to  the  hoarding  up  of  sentimental 
trifles;  and  the  preservation  of  these  keepsakes 
was  a  concession  to  that  weaker  side  of  her 
nature  which  she  kept  under  with  so  steady  a 
hand.  She  very  seldom  allowed  herself  to  look 
at  them. 

Now  she  took  them  out,  one  after  another: 
Giovanni's  first  letter  to  her,  and  the  flowers  that 
had  lain  in  his  dead  hand;  a  lock  of  her  baby's 
hair  and  a  withered  leaf  from  her  father's  grave. 
At  the  back  of  the  drawer  was  a  miniature  portrait 
of  Arthur  at  ten  years  old — the  only  existing 
likeness  of  him. 

She  sat  down  with  it  in  her  hands  and  looked 
at  the  beautiful  childish  head,  till  the  face  of  the 
real  Arthur  rose  up  afresh  before  her.  How  clear 
it  was  in  every  detail!  The  sensitive  lines  of  the 
mouth,  the  wide,  earnest  eyes,  the  seraphic  purity 
of  expression — they  were  graven  in  upon  her 
memory,  as  though  he  had  died  yesterday. 


202  THE  GADFLY. 

Slowly  the  blinding  tears  welled  up  and  hid  the 
portrait. 

Oh,  how  could  she  have  thought  such  a  thing! 
It  was  like  sacrilege  even  to  dream  of  this  bright, 
far-off  spirit,  bound  to  the  sordid  miseries  of  life. 
Surely  the  gods  had  loved  him  a  little,  and  had  let 
him  die  young!  Better  a  thousand  times  that  he 
should  pass  into  utter  nothingness  than  that  he 
should  live  and  be  the  Gadfly — the  Gadfly,  with 
his  faultless  neckties  and  his  doubtful  witticisms, 
his  bitter  tongue  and  his  ballet  girl!  No,  no!  It 
was  all  a  horrible,  senseless  fancy;  and  she  had 
vexed  her  heart  with  vain  imaginings.  Arthur 
was  dead. 

"  May  I  come  in?  "  asked  a  soft  voice  at  the 
door. 

She  started  so  that  the  portrait  fell  from  her 
hand,  and  the  Gadfly,  limping  across  the  room, 
picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  her. 

"  How  you  startled  me!  "  she  said. 

"  I   am   s-so   sorry.     Perhaps   I   am   disturbing 


you 


No.  I  was  only  turning  over  some  old 
things." 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment;  then  handed  him 
back  the  miniature. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  head?" 

While  he  looked  at  it  she  watched  his  face  as 
though  her  life  depended  upon  its  expression;  but 
it  was  merely  negative  and  critical. 

;<  You  have  set  me  a  difficult  task,"  he  said. 
:<  The  portrait  is  faded,  and  a  child's  face  is  always 
hard  to  read.  But  I  should  think  that  child  would 
grow  into  an  unlucky  man,  and  the  wisest  thing 
he  could  do  would  be  to  abstain  from  growing  into 
a  man  at  all." 


THE  GADFLY.  203 

"Why?" 

"  Look  at  the  line  of  the  under-lip.  Th-th-that 
is  the  sort  of  nature  that  feels  pain  as  pain  and 
wrong  as  wrong;  and  the  world  has  no  r-r-room 
for  such  people;  it  needs  people  who  feel  nothing 
but  their  work." 

"  Is  it  at  all  like  anyone  you  know?  " 

He  looked  at  the  portrait  more  closely. 

"  Yes.  What  a  curious  thing!  Of  course  it 
is;  very  like." 

"  Like  whom?  " 

"  C-c-cardinal  Montan-nelli.  I  wonder  whether 
his  irreproachable  Eminence  has  any  nephews,  by 
the  way?  Who  is  it,  if  I  may  ask?  " 

"  It  is  a  portrait,  taken  in  childhood,  of  the 
frjend  I  told  you  about  the  other  day " 

"  Whom  you  killed?  " 

She  winced  in  spite  of  herself.  How  lightly, 
how  cruelly  he  used  that  dreadful  word! 

"  Yes,  whom  I  killed — if  he  is  really  dead." 

"If?" 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

"  I  have  sometimes  doubted,"  she  said.  "  The 
body  was  never  found.  He  may  have  run  away 
from  home,  like  you,  and  gone  to  South  America." 

"  Let  us  hope  not.  That  would  be  a  bad  mem- 
ory to  carry  about  with  you.  I  have  d-d-done 
some  hard  fighting  in  my  t-time,  and  have  sent 
m-more  than  one  man  to  Hades,  perhaps;  but  if 
I  had  it  on  my  conscience  that  I  had  sent  any  1-liv- 
ing  thing  to  South  America,  I  should  sleep 
badly " 

"  Then  do  you  believe,"  she  interrupted,  coming 
nearer  to  him  with  clasped  hands,  "  that  if  he  were 
not  drowned, — if  he  had  been  through  your  ex- 
perience instead, — he  would  never  come  back  and 


204  THE  GADFLY. 

let  the  past  go?  Do  you  believe  he  would  never 
forget?  Remember,  it  has  cost  me  something, 
too.  Look!" 

She  pushed  back  the  heavy  waves  of  hair  from 
her  forehead.  Through  the  black  locks  ran  a 
broad  white  streak. 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  I  think,"  the  Gadfly  said  slowly,  "  that  the 
dead  are  better  dead.  Forgetting  some  things  is 
a  difficult  matter.  And  if  I  were  in  the  place  of 
your  dead  friend,  I  would  s-s-stay  dead.  The 
revcnant  is  an  ugly  spectre." 

She  put  the  portrait  back  into  its  drawer  and 
locked  the  desk. 

"  That  is  hard  doctrine,"  she  said.  "  And  now 
we  will  talk  about  something  else." 

"  I  came  to  have  a  little  business  talk  with  you, 
if  I  may — a  private  one,  about  a  plan  that  I  have 
in  my  head." 

She  drew  a  chair  to  the  table  and  sat  down. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  projected  press- 
law?  "  he  began,  without  a  trace  of  his  usual 
stammer. 

"  What  I  think  of  it?  I  think  it  will  not  be  of 
much  value,  but  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no 
bread." 

"  Undoubtedly.  Then  do  you  intend  to  work 
on  one  of  the  new  papers  these  good  folk  here  are 
preparing  to  start?  " 

"  I  thought  of  doing  so.  There  is  always  a 
great  deal  of  practical  work  to  be  done  in  starting 
any  paper — printing  and  circulation  arrangements 
and " 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  waste  your  mental 
gifts  in  that  fashion?  " 

"Why  'waste'?" 


THE  GADFLY.  205 

"  Because  it  is  waste.  You  know  quite  well 
that  you  have  a  far  better  head  than  most  of  the 
men  you  are  working  with,  and  you  let  them  make 
a  regular  drudge  and  Johannes  factotum  of  you. 
Intellectually  you  are  as  far  ahead  of  Grassini  and 
Galli  as  if  they  were  schoolboys;  yet  you  sit  cor- 
recting their  proofs  like  a  printer's  devil." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  spend  all  my  time 
in  correcting  proofs;  and  moreover  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  exaggerate  my  mental  capacities.  They 
are  by  no  means  so  brilliant  as  you  think." 

"  I  don't  think  them  brilliant  at  all,"  he  an- 
swered quietly;  "but  I  do  think  them  sound  and 
solid,  which  is  of  much  more  importance.  At 
those  dreary  committee  meetings  it  is  always  you 
who  put  your  finger  on  the  weak  spot  in  every- 
body's logic." 

"  You  are  not  fair  to  the  others..  Martini,  for 
instance,  has  a  very  logical  head,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  about  the  capacities  of  Fabrizi  and  Lega. 
Then  Grassini  has  a  sounder  knowledge  of  Italian 
economic  statistics  than  any  official  in  the  coun- 
try, perhaps." 

"Well,  that's  not  saying  much;  but  let  us  lay 
them  and  their  capacities  aside.  The  fact  remains 
that  you,  with  such  gifts  as  you  possess,  might  do 
more  important  work  and  fill  a  more  responsible 
post  than  at  present." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied  with  my  position.  The 
work  I  am  doing  is  not  of  very  much  value,  per- 
haps, but  we  all  do  what  we  can." 

"  Signora  Bolla,  you  and  I  have  gone  too  far  to 
play  at  compliments  and  modest  denials  now. 
Tell  me  honestly,  do  you  recognize  that  you  are 
using  up  your  brain  on  work  which  persons  inferior 
to  you  could  do  as  well?  " 


206  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Since  you  press  me  for  an  answer — yes,  to 
some  extent." 

"  Then  why  do  you  let  that  go  on?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Why  do  you  let  it  go  on?  " 

"  Because — I  can't  help  it." 

"Why?" 

She  looked  up  reproachfully.  "  That  is  un- 
kind— it's  not  fair  to  press  me  so." 

"  But  all  the  same  you  are  going  to  tell  me 
why." 

"  If  you  must  have  it,  then — because  my  life  has 
been  smashed  into  pieces,  and  I  have  not  the 
energy  to  start  anything  real,  now.  I  am  about 
fit  to  be  a  revolutionary  cab-horse,  and  do  the 
party's  drudge-work.  At  least  I  do  it  conscien- 
tiously, and  it  must  be  done  by  somebody." 

"  Certainly  it  must  be  done  by  somebody;  but 
not  always  by  the  same  person." 

"  It's  about  all  I'm  fit  for." 

He  looked  at  her  with  half-shut  eyes,  inscru- 
tably. Presently  she  raised  her  head. 

"  We  are  returning  to  the  old  subject;  and  this 
was  to  be  a  business  talk.  It  is  quite  useless,  I 
assure  you,  to  tell  me  I  might  have  done  all  sorts 
of  things.  I  shall  never  do  them  now.  But  I  may 
be  able  to  help  you  in  thinking  out  your  plan. 
What  is  it?" 

'  You  begin  by  telling  me  that  it  is  useless  for 
me  to  suggest  anything,  and  then  ask  what  I  want 
to  suggest.  My  plan  requires  your  help  in  action, 
not  only  in  thinking  out." 

"  Let  me  hear  it  and  then  we  will  discuss." 

"  Tell  me  first  whether  you  have  heard  anything 
about  schemes  for  a  rising  in  Venetia." 

"  I  have  heard  of  nothing  but  schemes  for  ris- 


THE  GADFLY.  207 

ings  and  Sanfedist  plots  ever  since  the  amnesty, 
and  I  fear  I  am  as  sceptical  about  the  one  as  about 
the  other." 

"  So  am  I,  in  most  cases;  but  I  am  speaking  of 
really  serious  preparations  for  a  rising  of  the  whole 
province  against  the  Austrians.  A  good  many 
young  fellows  in  the  Papal  States — particularly  in 
the  Four  Legations — are  secretly  preparing  to  get 
across  there  and  join  as  volunteers.  And  I  hear 
from  my  friends  in  the  Romagna " 

"  Tell  me,"  she  interrupted,  "  are  you  quite  sure 
that  these  friends  of  yours  can  be  trusted?  " 

"  Quite  sure.  I  know  them  personally,  and 
have  worked  with  them." 

"  That  is,  they  are  members  of  the  '  sect '  to 
which  you  belong?  Forgive  my  scepticism,  but  I 
am  always  a  little  doubtful  as  to  the  accuracy  of 
information  received  from  secret  societies.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  habit " 

"  Who  told  you  I  belonged  to  a  '  sect '  ?  "  he  in- 
terrupted sharply. 

"  No  one;  I  guessed  it." 

"  Ah!  "  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  her,  frowning.  "  Do  you  always  guess  people's 
private  affairs?  "  he  said  after  a  moment. 

"  Very  often.  I  am  rather  observant,  and  have 
a  habit  of  putting  things  together.  I  tell  you  that 
so  that  you  may  be  careful  when  you  don't  want 
me  to  know  a  thing." 

"  I  don't  mind  your  knowing  anything  so 
long  as  it  goes  no  further.  I  suppose  this  has 
not " 

She  lifted  her  head  with  a  gesture  of  half- 
offended  surprise.  "  Surely  that  is  an  unnecessary 
question!  "  she  said. 

"  Of  course  I  know  you  would  not  speak  of  any- 


208  THE  GADFLY. 

thing  to  outsiders;  but  I  thought  that  perhaps,  to 
the  members  of  your  party 

"  The  party's  business  is  with  facts,  not  with 
my  personal  conjectures  and  fancies.  Of  course 
I  have  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  any- 
one." 

"  Thank  you.  Do  you  happen  to  have  guessed 
which  sect  I  belong  to?  " 

"  I  hope — you  must  not  take  offence  at  my 
frankness;  it  was  you  who  started  this  talk,  you 
know I  do  hope  it  is  not  the  '  Knifers.' ' 

"  Why  do  you  hope  that?  " 

"  Because  you  are  fit  for  better  things." 

"  We  are  all  fit  for  better  things  than  we  ever 
do.  There  is  your  own  answer  back  again.  How- 
ever, it  is  not  the  '  Knifers  '  that  I  belong  to,  but 
the  '  Red  Girdles.'  They  are  a  steadier  lot,  and 
take  their  work  more  seriously." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  work  of  knifing?  " 

"  That,  among  other  things.  Knives  are  very 
useful  in  their  way;  but  only  when  you  have  a 
good,  organized  propaganda  behind  them.  That 
is  what  I  dislike  in  the  other  sect.  They  think  a 
knife  can  settle  all  the  world's  difficulties;  and 
that's  a  mistake.  It  can  settle  a  good  many,  but 
not  all." 

"  Do  you  honestly  believe  that  it  settles  any?  " 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  Of  course,"  she  went  on,  "  it  eliminates,  for 
the  moment,  the  practical  difficulty  caused  by  the 
presence  of  a  clever  spy  or  objectionable  official; 
but  whether  it  does  not  create  worse  difficulties  in 
place  of  the  one  removed  is  another  question.  It 
seems  to  me  like  the  parable  of  the  swept  and  gar- 
nished house  and  the  seven  devils.  Every  as- 
sassination only  makes  the  police  more  vicious  and 


THE  GADFLY.  209 

the  people  more  accustomed  to  violence  and  bru- 
tality, and  the  last  state  of  the  community  may  be 
worse  than  the  first." 

"  What  do  you  think  will  happen  when  the  revo- 
lution comes?  Do  you  suppose  the  people  won't 
have  to  get  accustomed  to  violence  then?  War 
is  war." 

'  Yes,  but  open  revolution  is  another  matter. 
It  is  one  moment  in  the  people's  life,  and  it  is  the 
price  we  have  to  pay  for  all  our  progress.  No 
doubt  fearful  things  will  happen;  they  must  in 
every  revolution.  But  they  will  be  isolated 
facts — exceptional  features  of  an  exceptional  mo- 
ment. The  horrible  thing  about  this  promiscuous 
knifing  is  that  it  becomes  a  habit.  The  people  get 
to  look  upon  it  as  an  every-day  occurrence,  and 
their  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  human  life  gets 
blunted.  I  have  not  been  much  in  the  Romagna, 
but  what  little  I  have  seen  of  the  people  has  given 
me  the  impression  that  they  have  got,  or  are  get- 
ting, into  a  mechanical  habit  of  violence." 

"  Surely  even  that  is  better  than  a  mechanical 
habit  of  obedience  and  submission." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  All  mechanical  habits  are 
bad  and  slavish,  and  this  one  is  ferocious  as  well. 
Of  course,  if  you  look  upon  the  work  of  the  revo- 
lutionist as  the  mere  wresting  of  certain  definite 
concessions  from  the  government,  then  the  secret 
sect  and  the  knife  must  seem  to  you  the  best  wea- 
pons, for  there  is  nothing  else  which  all  govern- 
ments so  dread.  But  if  you  think,  as  I  do,  that  to 
force  the  government's  hand  is  not  an  end  in  itself, 
but  only  a  means  to  an  end,  and  that  what  we 
really  need  to  reform  is  the  relation  between  man 
and  man,  then  you  must  go  differently  to  work. 
Accustoming  ignorant  people  to  the  sight  of  blood 


2io  THE  GADFLY. 

is  not  the  way  to  raise  the  value  they  put  on  human 
life." 

"  And  the  value  they  put  on  religion?  " 

"  I  don't  understand." 

He  smiled. 

"  I  think  we  differ  as  to  where  the  root  of  the 
mischief  lies.  You  place  it  in  a  lack  of  apprecia- 
tion of  the  value  of  human  life." 

"  Rather  of  the  sacredness  of  human  per- 
sonality." 

"  Put  it  as  you  like.  To  me  the  great  cause  of 
our  muddles  and  mistakes  seems  to  lie  in  the 
mental  disease  called  religion." 

"  Do  you  mean  any  religion  in  particular?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  That  is  a  mere  question  of  external 
symptoms.  The  disease  itself  is  what  is  called  a 
religious  attitude  of  mind.  It  is  the  morbid 
desire  to  set  up  a  fetich  and  adore  it,  to  fall  down 
and  worship  something.  It  makes  little  difference 
whether  the  something  be  Jesus  or  Buddha  or  a 
turn-turn  tree.  You  don't  agree  with  me,  of 
course.  You  may  be  atheist  or  agnostic  or  any- 
thing you  like,  but  I  could  feel  the  religious  tem- 
perament in  you  at  five  yards.  However,  it  is  of 
no  use  for  us  to  discuss  that.  But  you  are  quite 
mistaken  in  thinking  that  I,  for  one,  look  upon  the 
knifing  as  merely  a  means  of  removing  objection- 
able officials — it  is,  above  all,  a  means,  and  I  think 
the  best  means,  of  undermining  the  prestige  of  the 
Church  and  of  accustoming  people  to  look  upon 
clerical  agents  as  upon  any  other  vermin." 

"  And  when  you  have  accomplished  that ;  when 
you  have  roused  the  wild  beast  that  sleeps  in  the 
people  and  set  it  on  the  Church;  then— 

"  Then  I  shall  have  done  the  work  that  makes  it 
worth  my  while  to  live." 


THE  GADFLY.  211 

"  Is  that  the  work  you  spoke  of  the  other  day?  " 

"  Yes,  just  that." 

She  shivered  and  turned  away. 
'  You  are  disappointed  in  me?  "  he  said,  look- 
ing up  with  a  smile. 

"  No;  not  exactly  that.  I  am — I  think — a  little 
afraid  of  you." 

She  turned  round  after  a  moment  and  said  in 
her  ordinary  business  voice: 

'  This  is  an  unprofitable  discussion.  Our  stand- 
points are  too  different.  For  my  part,  I  believe 
in  propaganda,  propaganda,  and  propaganda;  and 
when  you  can  get  it,  open  insurrection." 

"  Then  let  us  come  back  to  the  question  of  my 
plan;  it  has  something  to  do  with  propaganda  and 
more  with  insurrection." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  As  I  tell  you,  a  good  many  volunteers  are  go- 
ing from  the  Romagna  to  join  the  Venetians. 
We  do  not  know  yet  how  soon  the  insurrection 
will  break  out.  It  may  not  be  till  the  autumn 
or  winter;  but  the  volunteers  in  the  Apennines 
must  be  armed  and  ready,  so  that  they  may  be 
able  to  start  for  the  plains  directly  they  are 
sent  for.  I  have  undertaken  to  smuggle  the 
firearms  and  ammunition  on  to  Papal  territory  for 
them " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  How  do  you  come  to  be 
working  with  that  set?  The  revolutionists  in 
Lombardy  and  Venetia  are  all  in  favour  of  the  new 
Pope.  They  are  going  in  for  liberal  reforms,  hand 
in  hand  with  the  progressive  movement  in  the 
Church.  How  can  a  'no-compromise '  anti-cleri- 
cal like  you  get  on  with  them?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  is  it  to  me 
if  they  like  to  amuse  themselves  with  a  rag-doll, 


212  THE  GADFLY. 

so  long  as  they  do  their  work?  Of  course  they 
will  take  the  Pope  for  a  figurehead.  What  have 
I  to  do  with  that,  if  only  the  insurrection  gets 
under  way  somehow?  Any  stick  will  do  to  beat 
a  dog  with,  I  suppose,  and  any  cry  to  set  the  peo- 
ple on  the  Austrians." 

"  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  Chiefly  to  help  me  get  the  firearms  across." 

"  But  how  could  I  do  that?" 

"  You  are  just  the  person  who  could  do  it  best. 
I  think  of  buying  the  arms  in  England,  and  there 
is  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  about  bringing  them 
over.  It's  impossible  to  get  them  through  any 
of  the  Pontifical  sea-ports;  they  must  come  by 
Tuscany,  and  go  across  the  Apennines." 

"  That  makes  two  frontiers  to  cross  instead  of 
one." 

"  Yes;  but  the  other  way  is  hopeless;  you  can't 
smuggle  a  big  transport  in  at  a  harbour  where  there 
is  no  trade,  and  you  know  the  whole  shipping  of 
Civita  Vecchia  amounts  to  about  three  row-boats 
and  a  fishing  smack.  If  we  once  get  the  things 
across  Tuscany,  I  can  manage  the  Papal  frontier; 
my  men  know  every  path  in  the  mountains,  and  we 
have  plenty  of  hiding-places.  The  transport  must 
come  by  sea  to  Leghorn,  and  that  is  my  great  diffi- 
culty; I  am  not  in  with  the  smugglers  there,  and 
I  believe  you  are." 

"  Give  me  five  minutes  to  think." 

She  leaned  forward,  resting  one  elbow  on  her 
knee,  and  supporting  the  chin  on  the  raised  hand. 
After  a  few  moments'  silence  she  looked  up. 

"  It  is  possible  that  I  might  be  of  some  use  in 
that  part  of  the  work,"  she  said;  "  but  before  we  ^o 
any  further,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Can 
you  give  me  your  word  that  this  business  is  not 


THE  GADFLY.  213 

connected  with  any  stabbing  or  secret  violence  of 

any  kind?  " 

"  Certainly.     It    goes    without    saying   that    I 

should  not  have  asked  you  to  join  in  a  thing  of 

which  I  know  you  disapprove." 

"  When    do   you    want  a  definite  answer  from 

me?" 

"  There  is  not  much  time  to  lose;  but  I  can  give 

you  a  few  days  to  decide  in." 

"  Are  you  free  next  Saturday  evening?  " 

"  Let  me  see — to-day  is  Thursday;  yes." 

"  Then  come  here.    I  will  think  the  matter  over 

and  give  you  a  final  answer." 

On  the  following  Sunday  Gemma  sent  in  to  the 
committee  of  the  Florentine  branch  of  the  Maz- 
zinian  party  a  statement  that  she  wished  to  under- 
take a  special  work  of  a  political  nature,  which 
would  for  a  few  months  prevent  her  from  perform- 
ing the  functions  for  which  she  had  up  till  now 
been  responsible  to  the  party. 

Some  surprise  was  felt  at  this  announcement, 
but  the  committee  raised  HO  objection;  she  had 
been  known  in  the  party  for  several  years  as  a  per- 
son whose  judgment  might  be  trusted;  and  the 
members  agreed  that  if  Signora  Bolla  took  an  un- 
expected step,  she  probably  had  good  reasons 
for  it. 

To  Martini  she  said  frankly  that  she  had  under- 
taken to  help  the  Gadfly  with  some  "  frontier 
work."  She  had  stipulated  for  the  right  to  tell  her 
old  friend  this  much,  in  order  that  there  might  be 
no  misunderstanding  or  painful  sense  of  doubt  and 
mystery  between  them.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
owed  him  this  proof  of  confidence.  He  made  no 
comment  when  she  told  him;  but  she  saw,  with- 


214  THE  GADFLY. 

out  knowing  why,  that  the  news  had  wounded 
him  deeply. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  terrace  of  her  lodging, 
looking  out  over  the  red  roofs  to  Fiesole.  After 
a  long  silence,  Martini  rose  and  began  tramping 
up  and  down  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  whist- 
ling to  himself — a  sure  sign  with  him  of  mental 
agitation.  She  sat  looking  at  him  for  a  little 
while. 

"  Cesare,  you  are  worried  about  this  affair,"  she 
said  at  last.  "  I  am  very  sorry  you  feel  so  despond- 
ent over  it;  but  I  could  decide  only  as  seemed 
right  to  me." 

"  It  is  not  the  affair,"  he  answered,  sullenly; 
"  I  know  nothing  about  it,  and  it  probably  is  all 
right,  once  you  have  consented  to  go  into  it.  It's 
the  man  I  distrust." 

"  I  think  you  misunderstand  him;  I  did  till  I 
got  to  know  him  better.  He  is  far  from  perfect, 
but  there  is  much  more  good  in  him  than  you 
think." 

"  Very  likely."  For  a  moment  he  tramped  to 
and  fro  in  silence,  then  suddenly  stopped  beside 
her. 

"  Gemma,  give  it  up!  Give  it  up  before  it  is  too 
late!  Don't  let  that  man  drag  you  into  things 
you  will  repent  afterwards." 

"  Cesare,"  she  said  gently,  "  you  are  not  think- 
ing what  you  are  saying.  No  one  is  dragging  me 
into  anything.  I  have  made  this  decision  of  my 
own  will,  after  thinking  the  matter  well  over  alone. 
You  have  a  personal  dislike  to  Rivarez,  I  know; 
but  we  are  talking  of  politics  now,  not  of  persons." 

"  Madonna!  Give  it  up!  That  man  is  danger- 
ous; he  is  secret,  and  cruel,  and  unscrupulous — 
and  he  is  in  love  with  you!  " 


THE  GADFLY.  215 

She  drew  back. 

"  Cesar e,  how  can  you  get  such  fancies  into  your 
head?" 

"  He  is  in  love  with  you,"  Martini  repeated. 
"  Keep  clear  of  him,  Madonna!  " 

"  Dear  Cesare,  I  can't  keep  clear  of  him;  and  I 
can't  explain  to  you  why.  We  are  tied  together — 
not  by  any  wish  or  doing  of  our  own." 

"  If  you  are  tied,  there  is  nothing  more  to  say," 
Martini  answered  wearily. 

He  went  away,  saying  that  he  was  busy,  and 
tramped  for  hours  up  and  down  the  muddy  streets. 
The  world  looked  very  black  to  him  that  evening. 
One  poor  ewe-lamb — and  this  slippery  creature 
had  stepped  in  and  stolen  it  away. 


CHAPTER    X. 

TOWARDS  the  middle  of  February  the  Gadfly 
went  to  Leghorn.  Gemma  had  introduced  him  to 
a  young  Englishman  there,  a  shipping-agent  of 
liberal  views,  whom  she  and  her  husband  had 
known  in  England.  He  had  on  several  occasions 
performed  little  services  for  the  Florentine  radi- 
cals: had  lent  money  to  meet  an  unforeseen  emer- 
gency, had  allowed  his  business  address  to  be  used 
for  the  party's  letters,  etc.;  but  always  through 
Gemma's  mediumship,  and  as  a  private  friend  of 
hers.  She  was,  therefore,  according  to  party 
etiquette,  free  to  make  use  of  the  connexion  in 
any  way  that  might  seem  good  to  her.  Whether 
any  use  could  be  got  out  of  it  was  quite  another 
question.  To  ask  a  friendly  sympathizer  to  lend 
his  address  for  letters  from  Sicily  or  to  keep  a 
few  documents  in  a  corner  of  his  counting-house 


216  THE  GADFLY. 

safe  was  one  thing;  to  ask  him  to  smuggle  over  a 
transport  of  firearms  for  an  insurrection  was 
another;  and  she  had  very  little  hope  of  his 
consenting. 

"  You  can  but  try,"  she  had  said  to  the  Gadfly; 
"  but  I  don't  think  anything  will  come  of  it.  If 
you  were  to  go  to  him  with  that  recommendation 
and  ask  for  five  hundred  scudi,  I  dare  say  he'd  give 
them  to  you  at  once — he's  exceedingly  gener- 
ous,— and  perhaps  at  a  pinch  he  would  lend  you 
his  passport  or  hide  a  fugitive  in  his  cellar;  but  if 
you  mention  such  a  thing  as  rifles  he  will  stare  at 
you  and  think  we're  both  demented." 

"  Perhaps  he  may  give  me  a  few  hints,  though, 
or  introduce  me  to  a  friendly  sailor  or  two,"  the 
Gadfly  had  answered.  "  Anyway,  it's  worth  while 
to  try." 

One  day  at  the  end  of  the  month  he  came  into 
her  study  less  carefully  dressed  than  usual,  and  she 
saw  at  once  from  his  face  that  he  had  good  news 
to  tell. 

"Ah,  at  last!  I  was  beginning  to  think  some- 
thing must  have  happened  to  you!  " 

"  I  thought  it  safer  not  to  write,  and  I  couldn't 
get  back  sooner." 

"  You  have  just  arrived?  " 

"Yes;  I  am  straight  from  the  diligence;  I 
looked  in  to  tell  you  that  the  affair  is  all  settled." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  Bailey  has  really  consented 
to  help?" 

"  More  than  to  help;  he  has  undertaken  the 
whole  thing, — packing,  transports, — everything. 
The  rifles  will  be  hidden  in  bales  of  merchandise 
and  will  come  straight  through  from  England. 
His  partner,  Williams,  who  is  a  great  friend  of  his, 
has  consented  to  see  the  transport  off  from  South- 


THE  GADFLY.  217 

ampton,  and  Bailey  will  slip  it  through  the 
custom  house  at  Leghorn.  That  is  why  I  have 
been  such  a  long  time;  Williams  was  just  starting 
for  Southampton,  and  I  went  with  him  as  far  as 
Genoa." 

'  To  talk  over  details  on  the  way?  " 

'  Yes,  as  long  as  I  wasn't  too  sea-sick  to  talk 
about  anything." 

"  Are  you  a  bad  sailor?  "  she  asked  quickly,  re- 
membering how  Arthur  had  suffered  from  sea- 
sickness one  day  when  her  father  had  taken  them 
both  for  a  pleasure-trip. 

"  About  as  bad  as  is  possible,  in  spite  of  hav- 
ing been  at  sea  so  much.  But  we  had  a  talk 
while  they  were  loading  at  Genoa.  You  know 
Williams,  I  think?  He's  a  thoroughly  good  fel- 
low, trustworthy  and  sensible;  so  is  Bailey,  for 
that  matter;  and  they  both  know  how  to  hold 
their  tongues." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  though,  that  Bailey  is  running 
a  serious  risk  in  doing  a  thing  like  this." 

"  So  I  told  him,  and  he  only  looked  sulky  and 
said:  'What  business  is  that  of  yours?'  Just  the 
sort  of  thing  one  would  expect  him  to  say.  If  I 
met  Bailey  in  Timbuctoo,  I  should  go  up  to  him 
and  say:  '  Good-morning,  Englishman.' ' 

"  But  I  can't  conceive  how  you  managed  to  get 
their  consent;  Williams,  too;  the  last  man  I 
should  have  thought  of." 

"  Yes,  he  objected  strongly  at  first ;  not  on  the 
ground  of  danger,  though,  but  because  the  thing 
is  '  so  unbusiness-like.'  But  I  managed  to  win 
him  over  after  a  bit.  And  now  we  will  go  into 
details." 

When  the  Gadfly  reached  his  lodgings  the  sun 


2i8  THE  GADFLY. 

had  set,  and  the  blossoming  pyrtis  japonica  that 
hung  over  the  garden  wall  looked  dark  in  the  fad- 
ing light.  He  gathered  a  few  sprays  and  carried 
them  into  the  house.  As  he  opened  the  study 
door,  Zita  started  up  from  a  chair  in  the  corner  and 
ran  towards  him. 

"  Oh,  Felice;  I  thought  you  were  never  com- 


ing 


His  first  impulse  was  to  ask  her  sharply  what 
business  she  had  in  his  study;  but,  remembering 
that  he  had  not  seen  her  for  three  weeks,  he  held 
out  his  hand  and  said,  rather  frigidly: 

"  Good-evening,  Zita;  how  are  you?  " 

She  put  up  her  face  to  be  kissed,  but  he  moved 
past  as  though  he  had  not  seen  the  gesture,  and 
took  up  a  vase  to  put  the  pyrus  in.  The  next 
instant  the  door  was  flung  wide  open,  and  the 
collie,  rushing  into  the  room,  performed  an  ecstatic 
dance  round  him,  barking  and  whining  with  de- 
light. He  put  down  the  flowers  and  stooped  to 
pat  the  dog. 

"  Well,  Shaitan,  how  are  you,  old  man?  Yes, 
it's  really  I.  Shake  hands,  like  a  good  dog!  " 

The  hard,  sullen  look  came  into  Zita's  face. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  dinner?  "  she  asked  coldly.  "  I 
ordered  it  for  you  at  my  place,  as  you  wrote  that 
you  were  coming  this  evening." 

He  turned  round  quickly. 

"  I  am  v-v-very  sorry;  you  sh-should  not  have 
waited  for  me!  I  will  just  get  a  bit  tidy  and 
come  round  at  once.  P-perhaps  you  would  not 
mind  putting  these  into  water." 

When  he  came  into  Zita's  dining  room  she  was 
standing  before  a  mirror,  fastening  one  of  the 
sprays  into  her  dress.  She  had  apparently  made 
up  her  mind  to  be  good-humoured,  and  came  up  to 


THE  GADFLY.  219 

him  with  a  little  cluster  of  crimson  buds  tied 
together. 

"  Here  is  a  buttonhole  for  you;  let  me  put  it  in 
your  coat." 

All  through  dinner-time  he  did  his  best  to  be 
amiable,  and  kept  up  a  flow  of  small-talk,  to  which 
she  responded  with  radiant  smiles.  Her  evident 
joy  at  his  return  somewhat  embarrassed  him; 
he  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  the  idea  that  she 
led  her  own  life  apart  from  his,  among  such  friends 
and  companions  as  were  congenial  to  her,  that  it 
had  never  occurred  to  him  to  imagine  her  as  miss- 
ing him.  And  yet  she  must  have  felt  dull  to  be 
so  much  excited  now. 

"  Let  us  have  coffee  up  on  the  terrace,"  she  said; 
"  it  is  quite  warm  this  evening." 

"  Very  well.  Shall  I  take  your  guitar?  Per- 
haps you  will  sing." 

She  flushed  with  delight;  he  was  critical  about 
music  and  did  not  often  ask  her  to  sing. 

On  the  terrace  was  a  broad  wooden  bench  run- 
ning round  the  walls.  The  Gadfly  chose  a  corner 
with  a  good  view  of  the  hills,  and  Zita,  seating  her- 
self on  the  low  wall  with  her  feet  on  the  bench, 
leaned  back  against  a  pillar  of  the  roof.  She  did 
not  care  much  for  scenery;  she  preferred  to  look  at 
the  Gadfly. 

"  Give  me  a  cigarette,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  have  smoked  once  since  you  went  away." 

"Happy  thought!  It's  just  s-s-smoke  I  want 
to  complete  my  bliss." 

She  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"  Are  you  really  happy?  " 

The  Gadfly's  mobile  brows  went  up. 

'  Yes;  why  not?  I  have  had  a  good  dinner;  I 
am  looking  at  one  of  the  m-most  beautiful  views 


220  THE  GADFLY. 

in  Europe;  and  now  I'm  going  to  have  coffee  and 
hear  a  Hungarian  folk-song.  There  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  either  my  conscience  or  my  digestion; 
what  more  can  man  desire?  " 

"  I  know  another  thing  you  desire." 

"What?" 

"That!"  She  tossed  a  little  cardboard  box 
into  his  hand. 

"  B-burnt  almonds!  Why  d-didn't  you  tell  me 
before  I  began  to  s-smoke?"  he  cried  reproach- 
fully. 

"  Why,  you  baby!  you  can  eat  them  when  you 
have  done  smoking.  There  comes  the  coffee." 

The  Gadfly  sipped  his  coffee  and  ate  his  burnt 
almonds  with  the  grave  and  concentrated  enjoy- 
ment of  a  cat  drinking  cream. 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  come  back  to  d-decent  coffee, 
after  the  s-s-stuff  one  gets  at  Leghorn!  "  he  said 
in  his  purring  drawl. 

"  A  very  good  reason  for  stopping  at  home  now 
you  are  here." 

"  Not  much  stopping  for  me;  I'm  off  again 
to-morrow." 

The  smile  died  on  her  face. 

"To-morrow!  What  for?  Where  are  you  go- 
ing to?  " 

"  Oh!  two  or  three  p-p-places,  on  business." 

It  had  been  decided  between  him  and  Gemma 
that  he  must  go  in  person  into  the  Apennines  to 
make  arrangements  with  the  smugglers  of  the 
frontier  region  about  the  transporting  of  the  fire- 
arms. To  cross  the  Papal  frontier  was  for  him  a 
matter  of  serious  danger;  but  it  had  to  be  done  if 
the  work  was  to  succeed. 

"Always  business!"  Zita  sighed  under  her 
breath;  and  then  asked  aloud: 


THE  GADFLY  221 

f<  Shall  you  be  gone  long?  " 

"  No;  only  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  p-p-prob- 
ably." 

"  I  suppose  it's  some  of  that  business? "  she 
asked  abruptly. 

"'That'  business?" 

"  The  business  you're  always  trying  to  get  your 
neck  broken  over — the  everlasting  politics." 

"  It  has  something  to  do  with  p-p-politics." 

Zita  threw  away  her  cigarette. 

'  You  are  fooling  me,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
going  into  some  danger  or  other." 

"  I'm  going  s-s-straight  into  the  inf-fernal  re- 
gions," he  answered  languidly.  "  D-do  you  hap- 
pen to  have  any  friends  there  you  want  to  send 
that  ivy  to?  You  n-needn't  pull  it  all  down, 
though." 

She  had  fiercely  torn  off  a  handful  of  the  climber 
from  the  pillar,  and  now  flung  it  down  with  vehe- 
ment anger. 

'You  are  going  into  danger,"  she  repeated; 
"and  you  won't  even  say  so  honestly!  Do  you 
think  I  am  fit  for  nothing  but  to  be  fooled  and 
joked  with?  You  will  get  yourself  hanged  one  of 
these  days,  and  never  so  much  as  say  good-bye. 
It's  always  politics  and  politics — I'm  sick  of 
politics!  " 

"  S-so  am  I,"  said  the  Gadfly,  yawning  lazily; 
"  and  therefore  we'll  talk  about  something  else — 
unless  you  will  sing." 

"  Well,  give  me  the  guitar,  then.  What  shall 
I  sing?  " 

"  The  ballad  of  the  lost  horse;  it  suits  your  voice 
so  well." 

She  began  to  sing  the  old  Hungarian  ballad  of 
the  man  who  loses  first  his  horse,  then  his  home, 


222  THE  GADFLY. 

and  then  his  sweetheart,  and  consoles  himself  with 
the  reflection  that  "  more  was  lost  at  Mohacz 
field."  The  song  was  one  of  the  Gadfly's  especial 
favourites;  its  fierce  and  tragic  melody  and  the 
bitter  stoicism  of  the  refrain  appealed  to  him  as 
no  softer  music  ever  did. 

Zita  was  in  excellent  voice;  the  notes  came 
from  her  lips  strong  and  clear,  full  of  the  vehement 
desire  of  life.  She  would  have  sung  Italian  or 
Slavonic  music  badly,  and  German  still  worse;  but 
she  sang  the  Magyar  folk-songs  splendidly. 

The  Gadfly  listened  with  wide-open  eyes  and 
parted  lips;  he  had  never  heard  her  sing  like  this 
before.  As  she  came  to  the  last  line,  her  voice 
began  suddenly  to  shake. 

"  Ah,  no  matter !     More  was  lost — 

She  broke  down  with  a  sob  and  hid  her  face 
among  the  ivy  leaves. 

"  Zita!  "  The  Gadfly  rose  and  took  the  guitar 
from  her  hand.  "  What  is  it?  " 

She  only  sobbed  convulsively,  hiding  her  face  in 
both  hands.  He  touched  her  on  the  arm. 

"  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter,"  he  said  caress- 
ingly. 

"  Let  me  alone!  "  she  sobbed,  shrinking  away. 
"  Let  me  alone!  " 

He  went  quietly  back  to  his  seat  and  waited 
till  the  sobs  died  away.  Suddenly  he  felt  her  arms 
about  his  neck;  she  was  kneeling  on  the  floor  be- 
side him. 

"  Felice — don't  go!     Don't  go  away!  " 

"  We  will  talk  about  that  afterwards,"  he  said, 
gently  extricating  himself  from  the  clinging  arms. 
'  Tell  me  first  what  has  upset  you  so.  Has  any- 
thing been  frightening  you?  " 


THE  GADFLY.  223 

She  silently  shook  her  head. 

"  Have  I  done  anything  to  hurt  you?  " 

"  No."     She  put  a  hand  up  against  his  throat. 

"What,  then?" 

'  You  will  get  killed,"  she  whispered  at  last. 
"  I  heard  one  of  those  men  that  come  here  say  the 
other  day  that  you  will  get  into  trouble — and 
when  I  ask  you  about  it  you  laugh  at  me!  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  the  Gadfly  said,  after  a  little 
pause  of  astonishment,  "  you  have  got  some  exag- 
gerated notion  into  your  head.  Very  likely  I  shall 
get  killed  some  day — that  is  the  natural  conse- 
quence of  being  a  revolutionist.  But  there  is  no 
reason  to  suppose  I  am  g-g-going  to  get  killed 
just  now.  I  am  running  no  more  risk  than  other 
people." 

"  Other  people — what  are  other  people  to  me? 
If  you  loved  me  you  wouldn't  go  off  this  way  and 
leave  me  to  lie  awake  at  night,  wondering  whether 
you're  arrested,  or  dream  you  are  dead  whenever 
I  go  to  sleep.  You  don't  care  as  much  for  me  as 
for  that  dog  there!  " 

The  Gadfly  rose  and  walked  slowly  to  the  other 
end  of  the  terrace.  He  was  quite  unprepared  for 
such  a  scene  as  this  and  at  a  loss  how  to  answer 
her.  Yes,  Gemma  was  right ;  he  had  got  his  life  into 
a  tangle  that  he  would  have  hard  work  to  undo. 

"  Sit  down  and  let  us  talk  about  it  quietly,"  he 
said,  coming  back  after  a  moment.  "  I  think  we 
have  misunderstood  each  other;  of  course  I  should 
not  have  laughed  if  I  had  thought  you  were  seri- 
ous. Try  to  tell  me  plainly  what  is  troubling  you; 
and  then,  if  there  is  any  misunderstanding,  we 
may  be  able  to  clear  it  up." 

"  There's  nothing  to  clear  up.  I  can  see  you 
don't  care  a  brass  farthing  for  me." 


224  THE  GADFLY. 

"  My  dear  child,  we  had  better  be  quite  frank 
with  each  other.  I  have  always  tried  to  be  honest 
about  our  relationship,  and  I  think  I  have  never 
deceived  you  as  to — 

"  Oh,  no!  you  have  been  honest  enough;  you 
have  never  even  pretended  to  think  of  me  as  any- 
thing else  but  a  prostitute, — a  trumpery  bit  of 
second-hand  finery  that  plenty  of  other  men  have 
had  before  you— 

"Hush,  Zita!  I  have  never  thought  that  way 
about  any  living  thing." 

"  You  have  never  loved  me,"  she  insisted  sul- 
lenly. 

"  No,  I  have  never  loved  you.  Listen  to  me, 
and  try  to  think  as  little  harm  of  me  as  you  can." 

"  Who  said  I  thought  any  harm  of  you?    I— 

"Wait  a  minute.  This  is  what  I  want  to  say: 
I  have  no  belief  whatever  in  conventional  moral 
codes,  and  no  respect  for  them.  To  me  the  rela- 
tions between  men  and  women  are  simply  ques- 
tions of  personal  likes  and  dislikes — 

"  And  of  money,"  she  interrupted  with  a  harsh 
little  laugh.  He  winced  and  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  That,  of  course,  is  the  ugly  part  of  the  matter. 
But  believe  me,  if  I  had  thought  that  you  disliked 
me,  or  felt  any  repulsion  to  the  thing,  I  would 
never  have  suggested  it,  or  taken  advantage  of 
your  position  to  persuade  you  to  it.  I  have  never 
done  that  to  any  woman  in  my  life,  and  I  have 
never  told  a  woman  a  lie  about  my  feeling  for  her. 
You  may  trust  me  that  I  am  speaking  the 
truth- 
He  paused  a  moment,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

"I  thought,"  he  went  on;  "that  if  a  man  is 
alone  in  the  world  and  feels  the  need  of — of  a 
woman's  presence  about  him,  and  if  he  can  find 


THE  GADFLY.  225 

a  woman  who  is  attractive  to  him  and  to  whom  he 
is  not  repulsive,  he  has  a  right  to  accept,  in  a  grate- 
ful and  friendly  spirit,  such  pleasure  as  that  woman 
is  willing  to  give  him,  without  entering  into  any 
closer  bond.  I  saw  no  harm  in  the  thing,  pro- 
vided only  there  is  no  unfairness  or  insult  or  deceit 
on  either  side.  As  for  your  having  been  in  that 
relation  with  other  men  before  I  met  you,  I  did 
not  think  about  that.  I  merely  thought  that  the 
connexion  would  be  a  pleasant  and  harmless  one 
for  both  of  us,  and  that  either  was  free  to  break 
it  as  soon  as  it  became  irksome.  If  I  was  mistaken 
— if  you  have  grown  to  look  upon  it  differently — 
then " 

He  paused  again. 

"  Then?  "  she  whispered,  without  looking  up. 

"  Then  I  have  done  you  a  wrong,  and  I  am  very 
sorry.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it." 

"  You  '  did  not  mean  '  and  you  '  thought ' 

Felice,  are  you  made  of  cast  iron?  Have  you  never 
been  in  love  with  a  woman  in  your  life  that  you 
can't  see  I  love  you?  " 

A  sudden  thrill  went  through  him;  it  was  so 
long  since  anyone  had  said  to  him:  "  I  love  you." 
Instantly  she  started  up  and  flung  her  arms  round 
him. 

"  Felice,  come  away  with  me!  Come  away  from 
this  dreadful  country  and  all  these  people  and  their 
politics!  What  have  we  got  to  do  with  them? 
Come  away,  and  we  will  be  happy  together.  Let 
us  go  to  South  America,  where  you  used  to  live." 

The  physical  horror  of  association  startled 
him  back  into  self-control;  he  unclasped  her  hands 
from  his  neck  and  held  them  in  a  steady  grasp. 

"  Zita!  Try  to  understand  what  I  am  saying 
to  you.  I  do  not  love  you;  and  if  I  did  I  would 


226  THE  GADFLY. 

not  come  away  with  you.  I  have  my  work  in 
Italy,  and  my  comrades " 

"  And  someone  else  that  you  love  better  than 
me!  "  she  cried  out  fiercely.  "  Oh,  I  could  kill 
you!  It  is  not  your  comrades  you  care  about; 
it's I  know  who  it  is!  " 

"Hush!"  he  said  quietly.  "You  are  excited 
and  imagining  things  that  are  not  true." 

"  You  suppose  I  am  thinking  of  Signora  Bolla? 
I'm  not  so  easily  duped!  You  only  talk  politics 
with  her;  you  care  no  more  for  her  than  you  do  for 
me.  It's  that  Cardinal!" 

The  Gadfly  started  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

"  Cardinal?  "  he  repeated  mechanically. 

"  Cardinal  Montanelli,  that  came  here  preaching 
in  the  autumn.  Do  you  think  I  didn't  see  your 
face  when  his  carriage  passed?  You  were  as  white 
as  my  pocket-handkerchief!  Why,  you're  shaking 
like  a  leaf  now  because  I  mentioned  his  name!  " 

He  stood  up. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about," 
he  said  very  slowly  and  softly.  "  I — hate  the 
Cardinal.  He  is  the  worst  enemy  I  have." 

"  Enemy  or  no,  you  love  him  better  than  you 
love  anyone  else  in  the  world.  Look  me  in  the 
face  and  say  that  is  not  true,  if  you  can!  " 

He  turned  away,  and  looked  out  into  the  gar- 
den. She  watched  him  furtively,  half-scared  at 
what  she  had  done;  there  was  something  terrify- 
ing in  his  silence.  At  last  she  stole  up  to  him, 
like  a  frightened  child,  and  timidly  pulled  his 
sleeve.  He  turned  round. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said. 


THE  GADFLY.  227 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  BUT  c-c-can't  I  meet  him  somewhere  in  the 
hills?  Brisighella  is  a  risky  place  for  me." 

"  Every  inch  of  ground  in  the  Romagna  is 
risky  for  you;  but  just  at  this  moment  Brisi- 
ghella is  safer  for  you  than  any  other  place." 

"  Why?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute.  Don't  let  that  man 
with  the  blue  jacket  see  your  face;  he's  danger- 
ous. Yes;  it  was  a  terrible  storm;  I  don't  re- 
member to  have  seen  the  vines  so  bad  for  a  long 
time." 

The  Gadfly  spread  his  arms  on  the  table,  and 
laid  his  face  upon  them,  like  a  man  overcome  with 
fatigue  or  wine;  and  the  dangerous  new-comer  in 
the  blue  jacket,  glancing  swiftly  round,  saw  only 
two  farmers  discussing  their  crops  over  a  flask  of 
wine  and  a  sleepy  mountaineer  with  his  head  on 
the  table.  It  was  the  usual  sort  of  thing  to  see  in 
little  places  like  Marradi;  and  the  owner  of  the 
blue  jacket  apparently  made  up  his  mind  that 
nothing  could  be  gained  by  listening;  for  he  drank 
his  wine  at  a  gulp  and  sauntered  into  the  outer 
room.  There  he  stood  leaning  on  the  counter  and 
gossiping  lazily  with  the  landlord,  glancing  every 
now  and  then  out  of  the  corner  of  one  eye  through 
the  open  door,  beyond  which  sat  the  three  figures 
at  the  table.  The  two  farmers  went  on  sipping 
their  wine  and  discussing  the  weather  in  the  local 
dialect,  and  the  Gadfly  snored  like  a  man  whose 
conscience  is  sound. 

At  last  the  spy  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  wine-shop  worth  further 
waste  of  his  time.  He  paid  his  reckoning,  and, 


228  THE  GADFLY. 

lounging  out  of  the  house,  sauntered  away  down 
the  narrow  street.  The  Gadfly,  yawning  and 
stretching,  lifted  himself  up  and  sleepily  rubbed 
the  sleeve  of  his  linen  blouse  across  his  eyes. 

"  Pretty  sharp  practice  that,"  he  said,  pulling 
a  clasp-knife  out  of  his  pocket  and  cutting  off  a 
chunk  from  the  rye-loaf  on  the  table.  "  Have 
they  been  worrying  you  much  lately,  Michele?  " 

"  They've  been  worse  than  mosquitos  in  Au- 
gust. There's  no  getting  a  minute's  peace;  wher- 
ever one  goes,  there's  always  a  spy  hanging  about. 
Even  right  up  in  the  hills,  where  they  used  to  be 
so  shy  about  venturing,  they  have  taken  to  com- 
ing in  bands  of  three  or  four — haven't  they,  Gino? 
That's  why  we  arranged  for  you  to  meet  Donieni- 
chino  in  the  town." 

"  Yes;  but  why  Brisighella?  A  frontier  town 
is  always  full  of  spies." 

"  Brisighella  just  now  is  a  capital  place.  It's 
swarming  with  pilgrims  from  all  parts  of  the 
country." 

"  But  it's  not  on  the  way  to  anywhere." 

"  It's  not  far  out  of  the  way  to  Rome,  and  many 
of  the  Easter  Pilgrims  are  going  round  to  hear 
Mass  there." 

"  I  d-d-didn't  know  there  was  anything  special 
in  Brisighella." 

"  There's  the  Cardinal.  Don't  you  remember 
his  going  to  Florence  to  preach  last  December? 
It's  that  same  Cardinal  Montanelli.  They  say  he 
made  a  great  sensation." 

"  I  dare  say;   I  don't  go  to  hear  sermons." 

"  Well,  he  has  the  reputation  of  being  a  saint, 
you  see." 

"  How  does  he  manage  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    I  suppose  it's  because  he  gives 


THE  GADFLY.  229 

away  all  his  income,  and  lives  like  a  parish  priest 
with  four  or  five  hundred  scudi  a  year." 

"Ah!"  interposed  the  man  called  Gino;  "but 
it's  more  than  that.  He  doesn't  only  give  away 
money;  he  spends  his  whole  life  in  looking  after 
the  poor,  and  seeing  the  sick  are  properly  treated, 
and  hearing  complaints  and  grievances  from  morn- 
ing till  night.  I'm  no  fonder  of  priests  than  you 
are,  Michele,  but  Monsignor  Montanelli  is  not  like 
other  Cardinals." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  he's  more  fool  than  knave! " 
said  Michele.  "  Anyhow,  the  people  are  mad  after 
him,  and  the  last  new  freak  is  for  the  pilgrims  to 
go  round  that  way  to  ask  his  blessing.  Domeni- 
chino  thought  of  going  as  a  pedlar,  with  a  basket 
of  cheap  crosses  and  rosaries.  The  people  like  to 
buy  those  things  and  ask  the  Cardinal  to  touch 
them;  then  they  put  them  round  their  babies' 
necks  to  keep  off  the  evil  eye." 

"  Wait  a  minute.  How  am  I  to  go — as  a  pil- 
grim? This  make-up  suits  me  p-pretty  well,  I 
think;  but  it  w-won't  do  for  me  to  show  myself  in 
Brisighella  in  the  same  character  that  I  had  here; 
it  would  be  ev-v-vidence  against  you  if  I  get 
taken." 

'  You  won't  get  taken ;  we  have  a  splendid 
disguise  for  you,  with  a  passport  and  all  com- 
plete." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  An  old  Spanish  pilgrim — a  repentant  brigand 
from  the  Sierras.  He  fell  ill  in  Ancona  last  year, 
and  one  of  our  friends  took  him  on  board  a  trad- 
ing-vessel out  of  chanty,  and  set  him  down  in 
Venice,  where  he  had  friends,  and  he  left  his  papers 
with  us  to  show  his  gratitude.  They  will  just  do 
for  you." 


230  THE  GADFLY. 

"A  repentant  b-b-brigand?  But  w-what  about 
the  police?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right!  He  finished  his  term  of 
the  galleys  some  years  ago,  and  has  been  going 
about  to  Jerusalem  and  all  sorts  of  places  saving 
his  soul  ever  since.  He  killed  his  son  by  mistake 
for  somebody  else,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
police  in  a  fit  of  remorse." 

"  Was  he  quite  old?  " 

"  Yes;  but  a  white  beard  and  wig  will  set  that 
right,  and  the  description  suits  you  to  perfection 
in  every  other  respect.  He  was  an  old  soldier, 
with  a  lame  foot  and  a  sabre-cut  across  the  face 
like  yours;  and  then  his  being  a  Spaniard,  too — 
you  see,  if  you  meet  any  Spanish  pilgrims,  you  can 
talk  to  them  all  right." 

"  Where  am  I  to  meet  Domenichino?  " 

"  You  join  the  pilgrims  at  the  cross-road  that 
we  will  show  you  on  the  map,  saying  you  had  lost 
your  way  in  the  hills.  Then,  when  you  reach  the 
town,  you  go  with  the  rest  of  them  into  the  mar- 
ket-place, in  front  of  the  Cardinal's  palace." 

"  Oh,  he  manages  to  live  in  a  p-palace,  then, 
in  s-spite  of  being  a  saint?  " 

"  He  lives  in  one  wing  of  it,  and  has  turned  the 
rest  into  a  hospital.  Well,  you  all  wait  there  for 
him  to  come  out  and  give  his  benediction,  and 
Domenichino  will  come  up  with  his  basket  and 
say:  "Are  you  one  of  the  pilgrims,  father?'  and 
you  answer:  '  I  am  a  miserable  sinner.'  Then  he 
puts  down  his  basket  and  wipes  his  face  with  his 
sleeve,  and  you  offer  him  six  soldi  for  a  rosary." 

"  Then,  of  course,  he  arranges  where  we  can 
talk?" 

'  Yes;   he  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  give  you 
the  address  of  the  meeting-place  while  the  people 


THE  GADFLY.  231 

are  gaping  at  Montanelli.  That  was  our  plan;  but 
if  you  don't  like  it,  we  can  let  Domenichino  know 
and  arrange  something  else." 

"  No;  it  will  do;  only  see  that  the  beard  and 
wig  look  natural." 

"  Are  you  one  of  the  pilgrims,  father?  " 

The  Gadfly,  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  episco- 
pal palace,  looked  up  from  under  his  ragged  white 
locks,  and  gave  the  password  in  a  husky,  trem- 
bling voice,  with  a  strong  foreign  accent.  Domeni- 
chino slipped  the  leather  strap  from  his  shoulder, 
and  set  down  his  basket  of  pious  gewgaws  on  the 
step.  The  crowd  of  peasants  and  pilgrims  sitting 
on  the  steps  and  lounging  about  the  market-place 
was  taking  no  notice  of  them,  but  for  precaution's 
sake  they  kept  up  a  desultory  conversation,  Do- 
menichino speaking  in  the  local  dialect  and  the 
Gadfly  in  broken  Italian,  intermixed  with  Spanish 
words. 

"  His  Eminence!  His  Eminence  is  coming 
out!"  shouted  the  people  by  the  door.  "Stand 
aside!  His  Eminence  is  coming!  " 

They  both  stood  up. 

"  Here,  father,"  said  Domenichino,  putting  into 
the  Gadfly's  hand  a  little  image  wrapped  in  paper; 
"  take  this,  too,  and  pray  for  me  when  you  get  to 
Rome." 

The  Gadfly  thrust  it  into  his  breast,  and  turned 
to  look  at  the  figure  in  the  violet  Lenten  robe  and 
scarlet  cap  that  was  standing  on  the  upper  step 
and  blessing  the  people  with  outstretched  arms. 

Montanelli  came  slowly  down  the  steps,  the 
people  crowding  about  him  to  kiss  his  hands. 
Many  knelt  down  and  put  the  hem  of  his  cassock 
to  their  lips  as  he  passed. 


232  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Peace  be  with  you,  my  children!  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  clear,  silvery  voice,  the 
Gadfly  bent  his  head,  so  that  the  white  hair  fell 
across  his  face;  and  Domenichino,  seeing  the 
quivering  of  the  pilgrim's  staff  in  his  hand,  said  to 
himself  with  admiration:  "  What  an  actor!  " 

A  woman  standing  near  to  them  stooped  down 
and  lifted  her  child  from  the  step.  "  Come, 
Cecco,"  she  said.  "  His  Eminence  will  bless  you 
as  the  dear  Lord  blessed  the  children." 

The  Gadfly  moved  a  step  forward  and  stopped. 
Oh,  it  was  hard!  All  these  outsiders — these  pil- 
grims and  mountaineers — could  go  up  and  speak 
to  him,  and  he  would  lay  his  hand  on  their  chil- 
dren's hair.  Perhaps  he  would  say  "  Carino  "  to 
that  peasant  boy,  as  he  used  to  say— 

The  Gadfly  sank  down  again  on  the  step,  turn- 
ing away  that  he  might  not  see.  If  only  he  could 
shrink  into  some  corner  and  stop  his  ears  to  shut 
out  the  sound!  Indeed,  it  was  more  than  any  man 
should  have  to  bear — to  be  so  close,  so  close  that 
he  could  have  put  out  his  arm  and  touched  the 
dear  hand. 

"  Will  you  not  come  under  shelter,  my  friend?  " 
the  soft  voice  said.  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  chilled." 

The  Gadfly's  heart  stood  still.  For  a  moment 
he  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  sickening 
pressure  of  the  blood  that  seemed  as  if  it  would 
tear  his  breast  asunder;  then  it  rushed  back,  ting- 
ling and  burning  through  all  his  body,  and  he 
looked  up.  The  grave,  deep  eyes  above  him  grew 
suddenly  tender  with  divine  compassion  at  the 
sight  of  his  face. 

"Stand  back  a  little,  friends, "-Montanelli  said, 
turning  to  the  crowd;  "  I  want  to  speak  to 
him." 


THE  GADFLY.  233 

The  people  fell  slowly  back,  whispering  to  each 
other,  and  the  Gadfly,  sitting  motionless,  with 
teeth  clenched  and  eyes  on  the  ground,  felt  the 
gentle  touch  of  Montanelli's  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  You  have  had  some  great  trouble.  Can  I  do 
anything  to  help  you?  " 

The  Gadfly  shook  his  head  in  silence. 

"  Are  you  a  pilgrim?  " 

"  1  am  a  miserable  sinner." 

The  accidental  similarity  of  Montanelli's  ques- 
tion to  the  password  came  like  a  chance  straw, 
that  the  Gadfly,  in  his  desperation,  caught  at,  an- 
swering automatically.  He  had  begun  to  tremble 
under  the  soft  pressure  of  the  hand  that  seemed 
to  burn  upon  his  shoulder. 

The  Cardinal  bent  down  closer  to  him. 

"  Perhaps,  you  would  care  to  speak  to  me  alone? 
If  I  can  be  any  help  to  you " 

For  the  first  time  the  Gadfly  looked  straight 
and  steadily  into  Montanelli's  eyes;  he  was  already 
recovering  his  self-command. 

"  It  would  be  no  use,"  he  said;  "  the  thing  is 
hopeless." 

A  police  official  stepped  forward  out  of  the 
crowd. 

"  Forgive  my  intruding,  Your  Eminence.  I 
think  the  old  man  is  not  quite  sound  in  his  mind. 
He  is  perfectly  harmless,  and  his  papers  are  in 
order,  so  we  don't  interfere  with  him.  He  has 
been  in  penal  servitude  for  a  great  crime,  and  is 
now  doing  penance." 

"  A  great  crime,"  the  Gadfly  repeated,  shaking 
his  head  slowly. 

"Thank  you,  captain;  stand  aside  a  little, 
please.  My  friend,  nothing  is  hopeless  if  a  man 


234  THE  GADFLY. 

has  sincerely  repented.  Will  you  not  come  to  me 
this  evening?  " 

"  Would  Your  Eminence  receive  a  man  who  is 
guilty  of  the  death  of  his  own  son?  " 

The  question  had  almost  the  tone  of  a  challenge, 
and  Montanelli  shrank  and  shivered  under  it  as 
under  a  cold  wind. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  condemn  you,  what- 
ever you  have  done!  "  he  said  solemnly.  "  In  His 
sight  we  are  all  guilty  alike,  and  our  righteousness 
is  as  filthy  rags.  If  you  will  come  to  me  I  will  re- 
ceive you  as  I  pray  that  He  may  one  day  receive 
me." 

The  Gadfly  stretched  out  his  hands  with  a  sud- 
den gesture  of  passion. 

"Listen!"  he  said;  "and  listen  all  of  you, 
Christians!  If  a  man  has  killed  his  only  son — his 
son  who  loved  and  trusted  him,  who  was  flesh  of 
his  flesh  and  bone  of  his  bone;  if  he  has  led  his  son 
into  a  death-trap  with  lies  and  deceit — is  there 
hope  for  that  man  in  earth  or  heaven?  I  have 
confessed  my  sin  before  God  and  man,  and  I  have 
suffered  the  punishment  that  men  have  laid  on 
me,  and  they  have  let  me  go;  but  when  will  God 
say,  '  It  is  enough  '?  What  benediction  will  take 
away  His  curse  from  my  soul?  What  absolution 
will  undo  this  thing  that  I  have  done?  " 

In  the  dead  silence  that  followed  the  people 
looked  at  Montanelli,  and  saw  the  heaving  of  the 
cross  upon  his  breast. 

He  raised  his  eyes  at  last,  and  gave  the  benedic- 
tion with  a  hand  that  was  not  quite  steady. 

"  God  is  merciful,"  he  said.  "  Lay  your  bur- 
den before  His  throne;  for  it  is  written:  'A 
broken  and  contrite  heart  shalt  thou  not  de- 
spise.' " 


THE  GADFLY.  235 

He  turned  away  and  walked  through  the  mar- 
ket-place, stopping  everywhere  to  speak  to  the 
people,  and  to  take  their  children  in  his  arms. 

In  the  evening  the  Gadfly,  following  the  direc- 
tions written  on  the  wrapping  of  the  image,  made 
his  way  to  the  appointed  meeting-place.  It  was 
the  house  of  a  local  doctor,  who  was  an  active 
member  of  the  "  sect."  Most  of  the  conspirators 
were  already  assembled,  and  their  delight  at  the 
Gadfly's  arrival  gave  him  a  new  proof,  if  he  had 
needed  one,  of  his  popularity  as  a  leader. 

"  We're  glad  enough  to  see  you  again,"  said  the 
doctor;  "  but  we  shall  be  gladder  still  to  see  you 
go.  It's  a  fearfully  risky  business,  and  I,  for  one, 
was  against  the  plan.  Are  you  quite  sure  none  of 
those  police  rats  noticed  you  in  the  market-place 
this  morning?  " 

"  Oh,  they  n-noticed  me  enough,  but  they 
d-didn't  recognize  me.  Domenichino  m-managed 
the  thing  capitally.  But  where  is  he?  I  don't  see 
him." 

"  He  has  not  come  yet.  So  you  got  on  all 
smoothly?  Did  the  Cardinal  give  you  his 
blessing?  " 

"  His  blessing?  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Do- 
menichino, coming  in  at  the  door.  "  Rivarez, 
you're  as  full  of  surprises  as  a  Christmas  cake. 
How  many  more  talents  are  you  going  to  astonish 
us  with?  " 

"  What  is  it  now?  "  asked  the  Gadfly  languidly. 
He  was  leaning  back  on  a  sofa,  smoking  a  cigar. 
He  still  wore  his  pilgrim's  dress,  but  the  white 
beard  and  wig  lay  beside  him. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  such  an  actor.  I  never 
saw  a  thing  done  so  magnificently  in  my  life.  You 
nearly  moved  His  Eminence  to  tears." 


236  THE   GADFLY. 

"  How  was  that?    Let  us  hear,  Rivarez." 

The  Gadfly  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  was  in 
a  taciturn  and  laconic  mood,  and  the  others,  see- 
ing that  nothing  was  to  be  got  out  of  him, 
appealed  to  Domenichino  to  explain.  When  the 
scene  in  the  market-place  had  been  related,  one 
young  workman,  who  had  not  joined  in  the  laugh- 
ter of  the  rest,  remarked  abruptly: 

"  It  was  very  clever,  of  course;  but  I  don't  see 
what  good  all  this  play-acting  business  has  done 
to  anybody." 

"Just  this  much,"  the  Gadfly  put  in;  "that  I 
can  go  where  I  like  and  do  what  I  like  anywhere 
in  this  district,  and  not  a  single  man,  woman,  or 
child  will  ever  think  of  suspecting  me.  The  story 
will  be  all  over  the  place  by  to-morrow,  and  when 
I  meet  a  spy  he  will  only  think:  '  It's  mad  Diego, 
that  confessed  his  sins  in  the  market-place.'  That 
is  an  advantage  gained,  surely." 

'  Yes,  I  see.  Still,  I  wish  the  thing  could  have 
been  done  without  fooling  the  Cardinal.  He's 
too  good  to  have  that  sort  of  trick  played  on 
him." 

"  I  thought  myself  he  seemed  fairly  decent," 
the  Gadfly  lazily  assented. 

"  Nonsense,  Sandro!  We  don't  want  Cardinals 
here!"  said  Domenichino.  "And  if  Monsignor 
Montanelli  had  taken  that  post  in  Rome  when  he 
had  the  chance  of  getting  it,  Rivarez  couldn't  have 
fooled  him." 

"  He  wouldn't  take  it  because  he  didn't  want  to 
leave  his  work  here." 

"  More  likely  because  he  didn't  want  to  get 
poisoned  off  by  Lambruschini's  agents.  They've 
got  something  against  him,  you  may  depend  upon 
it.  When  a  Cardinal,  especially  such  a  popular 


THE  GADFLY.  237 

one,  '  prefers  to  stay  '  in  a  God-forsaken  little  hole 
like  this,  we  all  know  what  that  means — don't  we, 
Rivarez?  " 

The  Gadfly  was  making  smoke-rings.  "  Per- 
haps it  is  a  c-c-case  of  a  '  b-b-broken  and  contrite 
heart/ '  he  remarked,  leaning  his  head  back  to 
watch  them  float  away.  "  And  now,  men,  let  us 
get  to  business." 

They  began  to  discuss  in  detail  the  various  plans 
which  had  been  formed  for  the  smuggling  and  con- 
cealment of  weapons.  The  Gadfly  listened  with 
keen  attention,  interrupting  every  now  and  then 
to  correct  sharply  some  inaccurate  statement  or 
imprudent  proposal.  When  everyone  had  finished 
speaking,  he  made  a  few  practical  suggestions, 
most  of  which  were  adopted  without  discussion. 
The  meeting  then  broke  up.  It  had  been  resolved 
that,  at  least  until  he  was  safely  back  in  Tuscany, 
very  late  meetings,  which  might  attract  the  notice 
of  the  police,  should  be  avoided.  By  a  little  after 
ten  o'clock  all  had  dispersed  except  the  doctor,  the 
Gadfly,  and  Domenichino,  who  remained  as 
a  sub-committee  for  the  discussion  of  special 
points.  After  a  long  and  hot  dispute,  Domeni- 
chino looked  up  at  the  clock. 

"  Half-past  eleven;  we  mustn't  stop  any  longer 
or  the  night-watchman  may  see  us." 

"  When  does  he  pass?  "  asked  the  Gadfly. 

"  About  twelve  o'clock;  and  I  want  to  be  home 
before  he  comes.  Good-night,  Giordani.  Rivarez, 
shall  we  walk  together?  " 

"  No;  I  think  we  are  safer  apart.  Then  I  shall 
see  you  again?  " 

'  Yes;  at  Castel  Bolognese.  I  don't  know  yet 
what  disguise  I  shall  be  in,  but  you  have  the  pass- 
word. You  leave  here  to-morrow,  I  think?  " 


238  THE  GADFLY. 

The  Gadfly  was  carefully  putting  on  his  beard 
and  wig  before  the  looking-glass. 

"  To-morrow  morning,  with  the  pilgrims.  On. 
the  next  day  I  fall  ill  and  stop  behind  in  a  shep- 
herd's hut,  and  then  take  a  short  cut  across  the 
hills.  I  shall  be  down  there  before  you  will. 
Good-night!" 

"Twelve  o'clock  was  striking  from  the  Cathedral 
bell-tower  as  the  Gadfly  looked  in  at  the  door  of 
the  great  empty  barn  which  had  been  thrown  open 
as  a  lodging  for  the  pilgrims.  The  floor  wa,s 
covered  with  clumsy  figures,  most  of  which  were 
snoring  lustily,  and  the  air  was  insufferably  close 
and  foul.  He  drew  back  with  a  little  shudder  of 
repugnance;  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to 
sleep  in  there;  he  would  take  a  walk,  and  then 
find  some  shed  or  haystack  which  would,  at  least, 
be  clean  and  quiet. 

It  was  a  glorious  night,  with  a  great  full  moon 
gleaming  in  a  purple  sky.  He  began  to  wander 
through  the  streets  in  an  aimless  way,  brooding 
miserably  over  the  scene  of  the  morning,  and  wish- 
ing that  he  had  never  consented  to  Domenichino's 
plan  of  holding  the  meeting  in  Brisighella.  If  at 
the  beginning  he  had  declared  the  project  too  dan- 
gerous, some  other  place  would  have  been  chosen ; 
and  both  he  and  Montanelli  would  have  been 
spared  this  ghastly,  ridiculous  farce. 

How  changed  the  Padre  was!  And  yet  his 
voice  was  not  changed  at  all;  it  was  just  the 
same  as  in  the  old  days,  when  he  used  to  say: 
"  Carino." 

The  lantern  of  the  night-watchman  appeared  at 
the  other  end  of  the  street,  and  the  Gadfly  turned 
down  a  narrow,  crooked  alley.  After  walking  a 
few  yards  he  found  himself  in  the  Cathedral 


THE  GADFLY.  239 

Square,  close  to  the  left  wing  of  the  episcopal 
palace.  The  square  was  flooded  with  moonlight, 
and  there  was  no  one  in  sight;  but  he  noticed  that 
a  side  door  of  the  Cathedral  was  ajar.  The  sacris- 
tan must  have  forgotten  to  shut  it.  Surely  noth- 
ing could  be  going  on  there  so  late  at  night.  He 
might  as  well  go  in  and  sleep  on  one  of  the  benches 
instead  of  in  the  stifling  barn;  he  could  slip  out  in 
the  morning  before  the  sacristan  came;  and  even 
if  anyone  did  find  him,  the  natural  supposition 
would  be  that  mad  Diego  had  been  saying  his 
prayers  in  some  corner,  and  had  got  shut  in. 

He  listened  a  moment  at  the  door,  and  then 
entered  with  the  noiseless  step  that  he  had  re- 
tained notwithstanding  his  lameness.  The  moon- 
light streamed  through  the  windows,  and  lay  in 
broad  bands  on  the  marble  floor.  In  the  chancel, 
especially,  everything  was  as  clearly  visible  as  by 
daylight.  At  the  foot  of  the  altar  steps  Cardinal 
Montanelli  knelt  alone,  bare-headed,  with  clasped 
hands. 

The  Gadfly  drew  back  into  the  shadow.  Should 
he  slip  away  before  Montanelli  saw  him?  That, 
no  doubt,  would  be  the  wisest  thing  to  do — per- 
haps the  most  merciful.  And  yet,  what  harm 
could  it  do  for  him  to  go  just  a  little  nearer — to 
look  at  the  Padre's  face  once  more,  now  that  the 
crowd  was  gone,  and  there  was  no  need  to  keep 
up  the  hideous  comedy  of  the  morning?  Perhaps 
it  would  be  his  last  chance — and  the  Padre  need 
not  see  him;  he  would  steal  up  softly  and  look — 
just  this  once.  Then  he  would  go  back  to  his 
work. 

Keeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  pillars,  he  crept 
softly  up  to  the  chancel  rails,  and  paused  at  the 
side  entrance,  close  to  the  altar.  The  shadow  of 


240  THE  GADFLY. 

the  episcopal  throne  was  broad  enough  to  cover 
him,  and  he  crouched  down  in  the  darkness,  hold- 
ing his  breath. 

"  My  poor  boy!     Oh,  God;  my  poor  boy!  " 

The  broken  whisper  was  full  of  such  endless 
despair  that  the  Gadfly  shuddered  in  spite  of  him- 
self. Then  came  deep,  heavy,  tearless  sobs;  and 
he  saw  Montanelli  wring  his  hands  together  like 
a  man  in  bodily  pain. 

He  had  not  thought  it  would  be  so  bad  as 
this.  How  often  had  he  said  to  himself  with  bitter 
assurance:  "  I  need  not  trouble  about  it;  that 
wound  was  healed  long  ago."  Now,  after  all  these 
years,  it  was  laid  bare  before  him,  and  he  saw  it 
bleeding  still.  And  how  easy  it  would  be  to  heal 
it  now  at  last!  He  need  only  lift  his  hand — only 
step  forward  and  say:  "  Padre,  it  is  I."  There 
was  Gemma,  too,  with  that  white  streak  across  her 
hair.  Oh,  if  he  could  but  forgive!  If  he  could 
but  cut  out  from  his  memory  the  past  that 
was  burned  into  it  so  deep — the  Lascar,  and  the 
sugar-plantation,  and  the  variety  show!  Surely 
there  was  no  other  misery  like  this — to  be  willing 
to  forgive,  to  long  to  forgive;  and  to  know  that 
it  was  hopeless — that  he  could  not,  dared  not 
forgive. 

Montanelli  rose  at  last,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  and  turned  away  from  the  altar.  The  Gadfly 
shrank  further  back  into  the  shadow,  trembling 
with  fear  lest  he  should  be  seen,  lest  the  very  beat- 
ing of  his  heart  should  betray  him;  then  he  drew 
a  long  breath  of  relief.  Montanelli  had  passed 
him,  so  close  that  the  violet  robe  had  brushed 
against  his  cheek, — had  passed  and  had  not  seen 
him. 

Had  not  seen  him Oh,  what  had  he  done? 


THE  GADFLY.  *4i 

This  had  been  his  last  chance — this  one  precious 
moment — and  he  had  let  it  slip  away.  He  started 
up  and  stepped  into  the  light. 

"Padre!" 

The  sound  of  his  own  voice,  ringing  up  and 
dying  away  along  the  arches  of  the  roof,  filled  him 
with  fantastic  terror.  He  shrank  back  again  into 
the  shadow.  Montanelli  stood  beside  the  pillar, 
motionless,  listening  with  wide-open  eyes,  full 
of  the  horror  of  death.  How  long  the  silence 
lasted  the  Gadfly  could  not  tell;  it  might  have 
been  an  instant,  or  an  eternity.  He  came  to  his 
senses  with  a  sudden  shock.  Montanelli  was  be- 
ginning to  sway  as  though  he  would  fall,  and  his 
lips  moved,  at  first  silently. 

"  Arthur!  "  the  low  whisper  came  at  last;  "  yes, 
the  water  is  deep " 

The  Gadfly  came  forward. 

"  Forgive  me,  Your  Eminence!  I  thought  it 
was  one  of  the  priests." 

"  Ah,  it  is  the  pilgrim?  "  Montanelli  had  at 
once  recovered  his  self-control,  though  the  Gadfly 
could  see,  from  the  restless  glitter  of  the  sapphire 
on  his  hand,  that  he  was  still  trembling.  "  Are 
you  in  need  of  anything,  my  friend?  It  is  late,  and 
the  Cathedral  is  closed  at  night." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Your  Eminence,  if  I  have  done 
wrong.  I  saw  the  door  open,  and  came  in  to  pray; 
and  when  I  saw  a  priest,  as  I  thought,  in  medita- 
tion, I  waited  to  ask  a  blessing  on  this." 

He  held  up  the  little  tin  cross  that  he  had 
bought  from  Domenichino.  Montanelli  took  it 
from  his  hand,  and,  re-entering  the  chancel,  laid  it 
for  a  moment  on  the  altar. 

"  Take  it,  my  son,"  he  said,  "  and  be  at  rest, 
for  the  Lord  is  tender  and  pitiful.  Go  to  Rome, 


*42  THE  GADFLY. 

and  ask  the  blessing  of  His  minister,  the  Holy 
Father.  Peace  be  with  you!  " 

The  Gadfly  bent  his  head  to  receive  the  bene- 
diction, and  turned  slowly  away. 

"Stop!"  said  Montanelli. 

He  was  standing  with  one  hand  on  the  chancel 
rail. 

"  When  you  receive  the  Holy  Eucharist  in 
Rome,"  he  said,  "  pray  for  one  in  deep  affliction — 
for  one  on  whose  soul  the  hand  of  the  Lord  is 
heavy." 

There  were  almost  tears  in  his  voice,  and  the 
Gadfly's  resolution  wavered.  Another  instant  and 
he  would  have  betrayed  himself.  Then  the 
thought  of  the  variety-show  came  up  again,  and 
he  remembered,  like  Jonah,  that  he  did  well  to 
be  angry. 

"  Who  am  I,  that  He  should  hear  my  prayers? 
A  leper  and  an  outcast!  If  I  could  bring  to  His 
throne,  as  Your  Eminence  can,  the  offering  of  a 
holy  life — of  a  soul  without  spot  or  secret 
shame 

Montanelli  turned  abruptly  away. 

"  I  have  only  one  offering  to  give,"  he  said;  "a 
broken  heart." 

A  few  days  later  the  Gadfly  returned  to  Flor- 
ence in  the  diligence  from  Pistoja.  He  went 
straight  to  Gemma's  lodgings,  but  she  was  out. 
Leaving  a  message  that  he  would  return  in  the 
morning  he  went  home,  sincerely  hoping  that  he 
should  not  again  find  his  study  invaded  by  Zita. 
Her  jealous  reproaches  would  act  on  his  nerves, 
if  he  were  to  hear  much  of  them  to-night,  like  the 
rasping  of  a  dentist's  file. 

"  Good-evening,    Bianca,"    he    said    when    the 


THE  GADFLY.  243 

maid-servant  opened  the  door.  "  Has  Mme.  Reni 
been  here  to-day?  " 

She  stared  at  him  blankly 

"  Mme.  Reni?  Has  she  come  back,  then, 
sir?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked  with  a  frown, 
stopping  short  on  the  mat. 

"  She  went  away  quite  suddenly,  just  after  you 
did,  and  left  all  her  things  behind  her.  She  never 
so  much  as  said  she  was  going." 

"  Just  after  I  did?    What,  a  f-fortnight  ago?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  the  same  day;  and  her  things  are 
lying  about  higgledy-piggledy.  All  the  neigh- 
bours are  talking  about  it." 

He  turned  away  from  the  door-step  without 
speaking,  and  went  hastily  down  the  lane  to  the 
house  where  Zita  had  been  lodging.  In  her  rooms 
nothing  had  been  touched;  all  the  presents  that 
he  had  given  her  were  in  their  usual  places;  there 
was  no  letter  or  scrap  of  writing  anywhere. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Bianca,  putting  her 
head  in  at  the  door,  "  there's  an  old  woman " 

He  turned  round  fiercely. 

"  What  do  you  want  here — following  me 
about?" 

"  An  old  woman  wishes  to  see  you." 

"  What  does  she  want?  Tell  her  I  c-can't  see 
her;  I'm  busy." 

"  She  has  been  coming  nearly  every  evening 
since  you  went  away,  sir,  always  asking  when  you 
would  come  back." 

"  Ask  her  w-what  her  business  is.  No;  never 
mind;  I  suppose  I  must  go  myself." 

The  old  woman  was  waiting  at  his  hall  door. 
She  was  very  poorly  dressed,  with  a  face  as  brown 
and  wrinkled  as  a  medlar,  and  a  bright-coloured 


244  THE  GADFLY. 

scarf  twisted  round  her  head.  As  he  came  in 
she  rose  and  looked  at  him  with  keen  black 
eyes. 

"  You  are  the  lame  gentleman,"  she  said,  in- 
specting him  critically  from  head  to  foot.  "  I  have 
brought  you  a  message  from  Zita  Reni." 

He  opened  the  study  door,  and  held  it  for  her 
to  pass  in;  then  followed  her  and  shut  the  door, 
that  Bianca  might  not  hear. 

"  Sit  down,  please.  N-now,  tell  me  who  you 
are." 

"  It's  no  business  of  yours  who  I  am.  I  have 
come  to  tell  you  that  Zita  Reni  has  gone  away 
with  my  son." 

"  With— your— son?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  if  you  don't  know  how  to  keep  your 
mistress  when  you've  got  her,  you  can't  complain 
if  other  men  take  her.  My  son  has  blood  in  his 
veins,  not  milk  and  water;  he  comes  of  the 
Romany  folk." 

"  Ah,  you  are  a  gipsy!  Zita  has  gone  back  to 
her  own  people,  then?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazed  contempt.  Ap- 
parently, these  Christians  had  not  even  manhood 
enough  to  be  angry  when  they  were  insulted. 

"  What  sort  of  stuff  are  you  made  of,  that  she 
should  stay  with  you?  Our  women  may  lend 
themselves  to  you  a  bit  for  a  girl's  fancy,  or  if  you 
pay  them  well;  but  the  Romany  blood  comes  back 
to  the  Romany  folk." 

The  Gadfly's  face  remained  as  cold  and  steady 
as  before. 

"  Has  she  gone  away  with  a  gipsy  camp,  or 
merely  to  live  with  your  son?  " 

The  woman  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Do  you  think  of  following  her  and  trying  to 


THE  GADFLY.  245 

win  her  back?  It's  too  late,  sir;  you  should  have 
thought  of  that  before!  " 

"  No;  I  only  want  to  know  the  truth,  if  you  will 
tell  it  to  me." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders;  it  was  hardly 
worth  while  to  abuse  a  person  who  took  it  so 
meekly. 

"  The  truth,  then,  is  that  she  met  my  son  in  the 
road  the  day  you  left  her,  and  spoke  to  him  in  the 
Romany  tongue;  and  when  he  saw  she  was  one  of 
our  folk,  in  spite  of  her  fine  clothes,  he  fell  in  love 
with  her  bonny  face,  as  our  men  fall  in  love,  and 
took  her  to  our  camp.  She  told  us  all  her  trouble, 
and  sat  crying  and  sobbing,  poor  lassie,  till  our 
hearts  were  sore  for  her.  We  comforted  her  as 
best  we  could;  and  at  last  she  took  off  her  fine 
clothes  and  put  on  the  things  our  lasses  wear,  and 
gave  herself  to  my  son,  to  be  his  woman  and  to 
have  him  for  her  man.  He  won't  say  to  her:  '  I 
don't  love  you,'  and:  '  I've  other  things  to  do.' 
When  a  woman  is  young,  she  wants  a  man;  and 
what  sort  of  man  are  you,  that  you  can't  even 
kiss  a  handsome  girl  when  she  puts  her  arms  round 
your  neck?  " 

"  You  said,"  he  interrupted,  "  that  you  had 
brought  me  a  message  from  her." 

"Yes;  I  stopped  behind  when  the  camp  went 
on,  so  as  to  give  it.  She  told  me  to  say  that  she 
has  had  enough  of  your  folk  and  their  hair-split- 
ting and  their  sluggish  blood ;  and  that  she  wants 
to  get  back  to  her  own  people  and  be  free.  '  Tell 
him/  she  said,  '  that  I  am  a  woman,  and  that  I 
loved  him;  and  that  is  why  I  would  not  be  his 
harlot  any  longer.'  The  lassie  was  right  to  come 
away.  There's  no  harm  in  a  girl  getting  a  bit  of 
money  out  of  her  good  looks  if  she  can — that's 


246  THE  GADFLY. 

what  good  looks  are  for;  but  a  Romany  lass  has 
nothing  to  do  with  loving  a  man  of  your  race." 

The  Gadfly  stood  up. 

"  Is  that  all  the  message?  "  he  said.  "  Then  tell 
her,  please,  that  I  think  she  has  done  right,  and 
that  I  hope  she  will  be  happy.  That  is  all  I  have 
to  say.  Good-night !  " 

He  stood  perfectly  still  until  the  garden  gate 
closed  behind  her;  then  he  sat  down  and  covered 
his  face  with  both  hands. 

Another  blow  on  the  cheek!  Was  no  rag  of 
pride  to  be  left  him — no  shred  of  self-respect? 
Surely  he  had  suffered  everything  that  man  can 
endure;  his  very  heart  had  been  dragged  in  the 
mud  and  trampled  under  the  feet  of  the  passers-by; 
there  was  no  spot  in  his  soul  where  someone's  con- 
tempt was  not  branded  in,  where  someone's  mock- 
ery had  not  left  its  iron  trace.  And  now  this  gipsy 
girl,  whom  he  had  picked  up  by  the  wayside — 
even  she  had  the  whip  in  her  hand. 

Shaitan  whined  at  the  door,  and  the  Gadfly 
rose  to  let  him  in.  The  dog  rushed  up  to  his  mas- 
ter with  his  usual  frantic  manifestations  of  delight, 
but  soon,  understanding  that  something  was 
wrong,  lay  down  on  the  rug  beside  him,  and  thrust 
a  cold  nose  into  the  listless  hand. 

An  hour  later  Gemma  came  up  to  the  front  door. 
No  one  appeared  in  answer  to  her  knock;  Bianca, 
finding  that  the  Gadfly  did  not  want  any  dinner, 
had  slipped  out  to  visit  a  neighbour's  cook.  She 
had  left  the  door  open,  and  a  light  burning  in  the 
hall.  Gemma,  after  waiting  for  some  time,  decided 
to  enter  and  try  if  she  could  find  the  Gadfly,  as  she 
wished  to  speak  to  him  about  an  important  mes- 
sage which  had  corre  from  Bailey.  She  knocked 
at  the  study  door,  and  the  Gadfly's  voice  answered 


THE  GADFLY.  247 

from  within:  "  You  can  go  away,  Bianca.  I  don't 
want  anything." 

She  softly  opened  the  door.  The  room  was 
quite  dark,  but  the  passage  lamp  threw  a  long 
stream  of  light  across  it  as  she  entered,  and  she  saw 
the  Gadfly  sitting  alone,  his  head  sunk  on  his 
breast,  and  the  dog  asleep  at  his  feet. 

"  It  is  I,"  she  said. 

He  started  up.  "  Gemma, Gemma!  Oh, 

I  have  wanted  you  so!  " 

Before  she  could  speak  he  was  kneeling  on  the 
floor  at  her  feet  and  hiding  his  face  in  the  folds  of 
her  dress.  His  whole  body  was  shaken  with  a  con- 
vulsive tremor  that  was  worse  to  see  than  tears. 

She  stood  still.  There  was  nothing  she  could 
do  to  help  him — nothing.  This  was  the  bitterest 
thing  of  all.  She  must  stand  by  and  look  on  pas- 
sively— she  who  would  have  died  to  spare  him 
pain.  Could  she  but  dare  to  stoop  and  clasp  her 
arms  about  him,  to  hold  him  close  against  her 
heart  and  shield  him,  were  it  with  her  own  body, 
from  all  further  harm  or  wrong;  surely  then  he 
would  be  Arthur  to  her  again ;  surely  then  the  day 
would  break  and  the  shadows  flee  away. 

Ah,  no,  no!  How  could  he  ever  forget?  Was 
it  not  she  who  had  cast  him  into  hell — she,  with 
her  own  right  hand? 

She  had  let  the  moment  slip  by.  He  rose 
hastily  and  sat  down  by  the  table,  covering  his 
eyes  with  one  hand  and  biting  his  lip  as  if  he  would 
bite  it  through. 

Presently  he  looked  up  and  said  quietly: 

"  I  am  afraid  I  startled  you." 

She  held  out  both  her  hands  to  him.  "  Dear," 
she  said,  "  are  we  not  friends  enough  by  now  for 
you  to  trust  me  a  little  bit?  What  is  it?  " 


248  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Only  a  private  trouble  of  my  own.  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  be  worried  over  it." 

"  Listen  a  moment,"  she  went  on,  taking  his 
hand  in  both  of  hers  to  steady  its  convulsive 
trembling.  "  I  have  not  tried  to  lay  hands  on  a 
thing  that  is  not  mine  to  touch.  But  now  that 
you  have  given  me,  of  your  own  free  will,  so  much 
of  your  confidence,  will  you  not  give  me  a  little 
more — as  you  would  do  if  I  were  your  sister. 
Keep  the  mask  on  your  face,  if  it  is  any  consola- 
tion to  you,  but  don't  wear  a  mask  on  your  soul, 
for  your  own  sake." 

He  bent  his  head  lower.  "  You  must  be  patient 
with  me,"  he  said.  "  I  am  an  unsatisfactory  sort 
of  brother  to  have,  I'm  afraid;  but  if  you  only 
knew —  I  have  been  nearly  mad  this  last  week. 
It  has  been  like  South  America  again.  And  some- 
how the  devil  gets  into  me  and —  He  broke 
off. 

"  May  I  not  have  my  share  in  your  trouble?" 
she  whispered  at  last. 

His  head  sank  down  on  her  arm.  "  The  hand  of 
the  Lord  is  heavy." 


PART  III. 


PART    III. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  next  five  weeks  were  spent  by  Gemma  and 
the  Gadfly  in  a  whirl  of  excitement  and  overwork 
which  left  them  little  time  or  energy  for  thinking 
about  their  personal  affairs.  When  the  arms  had 
been  safely  smuggled  into  Papal  territory  there 
remained  a  still  more  difficult  and  dangerous  task: 
that  of  conveying  them  unobserved  from  the  secret 
stores  in  the  mountain  caverns  and  ravines  to  the 
various  local  centres  and  thence  to  the  separate 
villages.  The  whole  district  was  swarming  with 
spies;  and  Domenichino,  to  whom  the  Gadfly  had 
intrusted  the  ammunition,  sent  into  Florence  a 
messenger  with  an  urgent  appeal  for  either  help 
or  extra  time.  The  Gadfly  had  insisted  that  the 
work  should  be  finished  by  the  middle  of  June; 
and  what  with  the  difficulty  of  conveying  heavy 
transports  over  bad  roads,  and  the  endless  hin- 
drances and  delays  caused  by  the  necessity  of  con- 
tinually evading  observation,  Domenichino  was 
growing  desperate.  "  I  am  between  Scylla  and 
Charybdis,"  he  wrote.  "  I  dare  not  work  quickly, 
for  fear  of  detection,  and  I  must  not  work  slowly 
if  we  are  to  be  ready  in  time.  Either  send  me 
efficient  help  at  once,  or  let  the  Venetians  know 


252  THE  GADFLY. 

that  we  shall  not  be  ready  till  the  first  week  in 
July." 

The  Gadfly  carried  the  letter  to  Gemma  and, 
while  she  read  it,  sat  frowning  at  the  floor  and 
stroking  the  cat's  fur  the  wrong  way. 

"  This  is  bad,"  she  said.  "  We  can  hardly  keep 
the  Venetians  waiting  for  three  weeks." 

"Of  course  we  can't;  the  thing  is  absurd. 
Domenichino  m-might  unders-s-stand  that.  We 
must  follow  the  lead  of  the  Venetians,  not  they 
ours." 

"  I  don't  see  that  Domenichino  is  to  blame;  he 
has  evidently  done  his  best,  and  he  can't  do 
impossibilities." 

"  It's  not  in  Domenichino  that  the  fault  lies;  it's 
in  the  fact  of  his  being  one  person  instead  of  two. 
We  ought  to  have  at  least  one  responsible  man 
to  guard  the  store  and  another  to  see  the  trans- 
ports off.  He  is  quite  right;  he  must  have  efficient 
help." 

"  But  what  help  are  we  going  to  give  him?  We 
have  no  one  in  Florence  to  send." 

"  Then  I  m-must  go  myself." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  little  frown. 

"  No,  that  won't  do;  it's  too  risky." 

"  It  will  have  to  do  if  we  can't  f-f-find  any  other 
way  out  of  the  difficulty." 

'  Then  we  must  find  another  way,  that's  all. 
It's  out  of  the  question  for  you  to  go  again  just 
now." 

An  obstinate  line  appeared  at  the  corners  of  his 
under  lip. 

"  I  d-don't  see  that  it's  out  of  the  question." 
'  You   will   see   if  you   think   about   the   thing 
calmly  for  a  minute.     It  is  only  five  weeks  since 


THE  GADFLY.  253 

you  got  back;  the  police  are  on  the  scent  about 
that  pilgrim  business,  and  scouring  the  country 
to  find  a  clue.  Yes,  I  know  you  are  clever  at  dis- 
guises; but  remember  what  a  lot  of  people  saw 
you,  both  as  Diego  and  as  the  countryman;  and 
you  can't  disguise  your  lameness  or  the  scar  on 
your  face." 

"  There  are  p-plenty  of  lame  people  in  the 
world." 

"  Yes,  but  there  are  not  plenty  of  people  in  the 
Romagna  with  a  lame  foot  and  a  sabre-cut  across 
the  cheek  and  a  left  arm  injured  like  yours,  and 
the  combination  of  blue  eyes  with  such  dark 
colouring." 

"  The  eyes  don't  matter;  I  can  alter  them  with 
belladonna." 

"  You  can't  alter  the  other  things.  No,  it  won't 
do.  For  you  to  go  there  just  now,  with  all  your 
identification-marks,  would  be  to  walk  into  a  trap 
with  your  eyes  open.  You  would  certainly  be 
taken." 

"  But  s-s-someone  must  help  Domenichino." 

"  It  will  be  no  help  to  him  to  have  you  caught 
at  a  critical  moment  like  this.  Your  arrest  would 
mean  the  failure  of  the  whole  thing." 

But  the  Gadfly  was  difficult  to  convince,  and 
the  discussion  went  on  and  on  without  coming 
nearer  to  any  settlement.  Gemma  was  beginning 
to  realize  how  nearly  inexhaustible  was  the  fund 
of  quiet  obstinacy  in  his  character;  and,  had  the 
matter  not  been  one  about  which  she  felt  strongly, 
she  would  probably  have  yielded  for  the  sake  of 
peace.  This,  however,  was  a  case  in  which  she 
could  not  conscientiously  give  way;  the  practical 
advantage  to  be  gained  from,  the  proposed  journey 
seemed  to  her  not  sufficiently  important  to  be 


254  THE  GADFLY. 

worth  the  risk,  and  she  could  not  help  suspecting 
that  his  desire  to  go  was  prompted  less  by  a  con- 
viction of  grave  political  necessity  than  by  a  mor- 
bid craving  for  the  excitement  of  danger.  He  had 
got  into  the  habit  of  risking  his  neck,  and  his  ten- 
dency to  run  into  unnecessary  peril  seemed  to  her 
a  form  of  intemperance  which  should  be  quietly 
but  steadily  resisted.  Finding  all  her  arguments 
unavailing  against  his  dogged  resolve  to  go  his 
own  way,  she  fired  her  last  shot. 

"  Let  us  be  honest  about  it,  anyway,"  she  said; 
"  and  call  things  by  their  true  names.  It  is  not 
Domenichino's  difficulty  that  makes  you  so  deter- 
mined to  go.  It  is  your  own  personal  passion 
for " 

"It's  not  true!"  he  interrupted  vehemently. 
"  He  is  nothing  to  me;  I  don't  care  if  I  never  see 
him  again." 

He  broke  off,  seeing  in  her  face  that  he  had 
betrayed  himself.  Their  eyes  met  for  an  instant, 
and  dropped;  and  neither  of  them  uttered  the 
name  that  was  in  both  their  minds. 

"  It — it  is  not  Domenichino  I  want  to  save,"  he 
stammered  at  last,  with  his  face  half  buried  in  the 
cat's  fur;  "it  is  that  I — I  understand  the  danger 
of  the  work  failing  if  he  has  no  help." 

She  passed  over  the  feeble  little  subterfuge,  and 
went  on  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption: 

"  It  is  your  passion  for  running  into  danger 
which  makes  you  want  to  go  there.  You  have 
the  same  craving  for  danger  when  you  are  worried 
that  you  had  for  opium  when  you  were  ill." 

"  It  was  not  I  that  asked  for  the  opium,"  he  said 
defiantly;  "  it  was  the  others  who  insisted  on  giv- 
ing it  to  me." 

"  I  dare  say.     You  plume  yourself  a  little  on 


THE  GADFLY.  255 

your  stoicism,  and  to  ask  for  physical  relief  would 
have  hurt  your  pride;  but  it  is  rather  flattered  than 
otherwise  when  you  risk  your  life  to  relieve  the 
irritation  of  your  nerves.  And  yet,  after  all,  the 
distinction  is  a  merely  conventional  one." 

He  drew  the  cat's  head  back  and  looked  down 
into  the  round,  green  eyes.  "  Is  it  true,  Pasht?  " 
he  said.  "  Are  all  these  unkind  things  true  that 
your  mistress  is  s-saying  about  me?  Is  it  a  case 
of  mca  culpa;  mea  m-maxima  culpaf  You  wise 
beast,  you  never  ask  for  opium,  do  you?  Your 
ancestors  were  gods  in  Egypt,  and  no  man  t-trod 
on  their  tails.  I  wonder,  though,  what  would  be- 
come of  your  calm  superiority  to  earthly  ills  if  I 
were  to  take  this  paw  of  yours  and  hold  it  in  the 
c-candle.  Would  you  ask  me  for  opium  then? 
Would  you?  Or  perhaps — for  death?  No, 
pussy,  we  have  no  right  to  die  for  our  personal 
convenience.  We  may  spit  and  s-swear  a  bit,  if 
it  consoles  us;  but  we  mustn't  pull  the  paw  away." 

"Hush!"  She  took  the  cat  off  his  knee  and 
put  it  down  on  a  footstool.  "  You  and  I  will 
have  time  for  thinking  about  those  things  later 
on.  What  we  have  to  think  of  now  is  how  to  get 
Domenichino  out  of  his  difficulty.  What  is  it, 
Katie;  a  visitor?  I  am  busy." 

"  Miss  Wright  has  sent  you  this,  ma'am,  by 
hand." 

The  packet,  which  was  carefully  sealed,  con- 
tained a  letter,  addressed  to  Miss  Wright,  but 
unopened  and  with  a  Papal  stamp.  Gemma's 
old  school  friends  still  lived  in  Florence,  and 
her  more  important  letters  were  often  received, 
for  safety,  at  their  address. 

"  It  is  Michele's  mark,"  she  said,  glancing 
quickly  over  the  letter,  which  seemed  to  be  about 


256  THE  GADFLY. 

the  summer-terms  at  a  boarding  house  in  the 
Apennines,  and  pointing  to  two  little  blots  on  a 
corner  of  the  page.  "  It  is  in  chemical  ink;  the 
reagent  is  in  the  third  drawer  of  the  writing-table. 
Yes;  that  is  it." 

He  laid  the  letter  open  on  the  desk  and  passed 
a  little  brueh  over  its  pages.  When  the  real  mes- 
sage stood  out  on  the  paper  in  a  brilliant  blue  line, 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  hurriedly.  He 
handed  her  the  paper. 

"  Domenichino  has  been  arrested.     Come  at  once" 

She  sat  down  with  the  paper  in  her  hand  and 
stared  hopelessly  at  the  Gadfly. 

"  W-well?  "  he  said  at  last,  with  his  soft,  ironical 
drawl;  "  are  you  satisfied  now  that  I  must  go?  " 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  you  must,"  she  answered,  sigh- 
ing. "  And  I  too." 

He  looked  up  with  a  little  start.  "  You  too? 
But— 

"  Of  course.  It  will  be  very  awkward,  I  know, 
to  be  left  without  anyone  here  in  Florence;  but 
everything  must  go  to  the  wall  now  except  the 
providing  of  an  extra  pair  of  hands." 

"  There  are  plenty  of  hands  to  be  got  there." 

'  They  don't  belong  to  people  whom  you  can 
trust  thoroughly,  though.  You  said  yourself  just 
now  that  there  must  be  two  responsible  persons 
in  charge;  and  if  Domenichino  couldn't  manage 
alone  it  is  evidently  impossible  for  you  to  do  so. 
A  person  as  desperately  compromised  as  you  are 
is  very  much  handicapped,  remember,  in  work  of 
that  kind,  and  more  dependent  on  help  than  any- 
one else  would  be.  Instead  of  you  and  Dome- 
nichino, it  must  be  you  and  I." 

He  considered  for  a  moment,  frowning. 


THE  GADFLY.  257 

"Yes,  you  are  quite  right,"  he  said;  "and  the 
sooner  we  go  the  better.  But  we  must  not  start 
together.  If  I  go  off  to-night,  you  can  take,  say, 
the  afternoon  coach  to-morrow." 

"  Where  to?  " 

"  That  we  must  discuss.  I  think  I  had  b-b-bet- 
ter  go  straight  in  to  Faenza.  If  I  start  late  to- 
night and  ride  to  Borgo  San  Lorenzo  I  can  get 
my  disguise  arranged  there  and  go  straight  on." 

"  I  don't  see  what  else  we  can  do,"  she  said,  with 
an  anxious  little  frown ;  "  but  it  is  very  risky,  your 
going  off  in  such  a  hurry  and  trusting  to  the  smug- 
glers rinding  you  a  disguise  at  Borgo.  You  ought 
to  have  at  least  three  clear  days  to  double  on  your 
trace  before  you  cross  the  frontier." 

'  You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  answered,  smiling; 
"  I  may  get  taken  further  on,  but  not  at  the  fron- 
tier. Once  in  the  hills  I  am  as  safe  as  here;  there's 
not  a  smuggler  in  the  Apennines  that  would  be- 
tray me.  What  I  am  not  quite  sure  about  is  how 
you  are  to  get  across." 

"  Oh,  that  is  very  simple!  I  shall  take  Louisa 
Wright's  passport  and  go  for  a  holiday.  No  one 
knows  me  in  the  Romagna,  but  every  spy  knows 
you." 

"  F-fortunately,  so  does  every  smuggler." 

She  took  out  her  watch. 

"  Half-past  two.  We  have  the  afternoon  and 
evening,  then,  if  you  are  to  start  to-night." 

'  Then  the  best  thing  will  be  for  me  to  go  home 
and  settle  everything  now,  and  arrange  about 
a  good  horse.  I  shall  ride  in  to  San  Lorenzo;  it 
will  be  safer." 

"  But  it  won't  be  safe  at  all  to  hire  a  horse.  The 
owner  will ' 

"  I  shan't  hire  one.     I  know  a  man  that  will  lend 


258  THE  GADFLY. 

me  a  horse,  and  that  can  be  trusted.  He  has  done 
things  for  me  before.  One  of  the  shepherds  will 
bring  it  back  in  a  fortnight.  I  shall  be  here  again 
by  five  or  half-past,  then;  and  while  I  am  gone, 
I  w-want  you  to  go  and  find  Martini  and  exp-plain 
everything  to  him." 

"Martini!'  She  turned  round  and  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes;  we  must  take  him  into  confidence — un- 
less you  can  think  of  anyone  else." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  what  you  mean." 

"  We  must  have  someone  here  whom  we  can 
trust,  in  case  of  any  special  difficulty;  and  of  all 
the  set  here  Martini  is  the  man  in  whom  I  have 
most  confidence.  Riccardo  would  do  anything  he 
could  for  us,  of  course;  but  I  think  Martini  has 
a  steadier  head.  Still,  you  know  him  better  than 
I  do;  it  is  as  you  think." 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  Martini's 
trustworthiness  and  efficiency  in  every  respect;  and 
I  think  he  would  probably  consent  to  give  us  any 
help  he  could.  But— 

He  understood  at  once. 

"  Gemma,  what  would  you  feel  if  you  found  out 
that  a  comrade  in  bitter  need  had  not  asked  you 
for  help  you  might  have  given,  for  fear  of  hurting 
or  distressing  you?  Would  you  say  there  was  any 
true  kindness  in  that?  " 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  after  a  little  pause;  "I 
will  send  Katie  round  at  once  and  ask  him  to 
come;  and  while  she  is  gone  I  will  go  to  Louisa 
for  her  passport;  she  promised  to  lend  it  whenever 
I  want  one.  What  about  money?  Shall  I  draw 
some  out  of  the  bank?  " 

"No;  don't  waste  time  on  that;  I  can  draw 
enough  from  my  account  to  last  us  for  a  bit.  We 


THE  GADFLY.  259 

will  fall  back  on  yours  later  on  if  my  balance  runs 
short.  Till  half-past  five,  then;  I  shall  be  sure  to 
find  you  here,  of  course  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  I  shall  be  back  long  before  then." 

Half  an  hour  after  the  appointed  time  he  re- 
turned, and  found  Gemma  and  Martini  sitting  on 
the  terrace  together.  He  saw  at  once  that  their 
conversation  had  been  a  distressing  one;  the  traces 
of  agitation  were  visible  in  both  of  them,  and  Mar- 
tini was  unusually  silent  and  glum. 

"  Have  you  arranged  everything?  "  she  asked, 
looking  up. 

"  Yes;  and  I  have  brought  you  some  money  for 
the  journey.  The  horse  will  be  ready  for  me  at 
the  Ponte  Rosso  barrier  at  one  in  the  night." 

"  Is  not  that  rather  late?  You  ought  to  get 
into  San  Lorenzo  before  the  people  are  up  in  the 
morning." 

"  So  I  shall;  it's  a  very  fast  horse;  and  I  don't 
want  to  leave  here  when  there's  a  chance  of  any- 
one noticing  me.  I  shan't  go  home  any  more; 
there's  a  spy  watching  at  the  door,  and  he  thinks 
me  in." 

"  How  did  you  get  out  without  his  seeing 
you?  " 

"  Out  of  the  kitchen  window  into  the  back  gar- 
den and  over  the  neighbour's  orchard  wall;  that's 
what  makes  me  so  late;  I  had  to  dodge  him.  I 
left  the  owner  of  the  horse  to  sit  in  the  study  all 
the  evening  with  the  lamp  lighted.  When  the  spy 
sees  the  light  in  the  window  and  a  shadow  on  the 
blind  he  will  be  quite  satisfied  that  I  am  writing 
at  home  this  evening." 

"  Then  you  will  stay  here  till  it  is  time  to  go  to 
the  barrier?  " 

"  Yes;  I  don't  want  to  be  seen  in  the  street  any 


260  THE  GADFLY. 

more  to-night.  Have  a  cigar,  Martini?  I  know 
Signora  Bolla  doesn't  mind  smoke." 

"  I  shan't  be  here  to  mind;  I  must  go  down- 
stairs and  help  Katie  with  the  dinner." 

When  she  had  gone  Martini  got  up  and  began 
to  pace  to  and  fro  with  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
The  Gadfly  sat  smoking  and  looking  silently  out 
at  the  drizzling  rain. 

"  Rivarez!  "  Martini  began,  stopping  in  front  of 
him,  but  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  ground;  "  what 
sort  of  thing  are  you  going  to  drag  her  into?  " 

The  Gadfly  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  and 
blew  away  a  long  trail  of  smoke. 

"  She  has  chosen  for  herself,"  he  said,  "  without 
compulsion  on  anyone's  part." 

"  Yes,  yes — I  know.     But  tell  me " 

He  stopped. 

"  I  will  tell  you  anything  I  can." 

"  Well,  then — I  don't  know  much  about  the 
details  of  these  affairs  in  the  hills, — are  you  going 
to  take  her  into  any  very  serious  danger?  " 

"  Do  you  want  the  truth?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then— yes." 

Martini  turned  away  and  went  on  pacing  up  and 
down.  Presently  he  stopped  again. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  another  question.  If  you 
don't  choose  to  answer  it,  you  needn't,  of  course; 
but  if  you  do  answer,  then  answer  honestly.  Are 
you  in  love  with  her?  " 

The  Gadfly  deliberately  knocked  the  ash  from 
his  cigar  and  went  on  smoking  in  silence. 

"  That  means — that  you  don't  choose  to 
answer?  " 

"  No;  only  that  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  know 
why  you  ask  me  that." 


THE  GADFLY.  «6i 

"  Why?     Good  God,  man,  can't  you  see  why?  " 

"Ah!"      He  laid  down  his  cigar  and  looked 

steadily    at    Martini.     "  Yes,"    he    said    at    last, 

slowly  and  softly.     "  I  am  in  love  with  her.     But 

you  needn't  think  I  am  going  to  make  love  to 

her,    or    worry    about    it.     I    am    only    going 
^.^         » 

His  voice  died  away  in  a  strange,  faint  whisper. 
Martini  came  a  step  nearer. 

"  Only  going — to " 

"  To  die." 

He  was  staring  straight  before  him  with  a  cold, 
fixed  look,  as  if  he  were  dead  already.  When  he 
spoke  again  his  voice  was  curiously  lifeless  and 
even. 

"  You  needn't  worry  her  about  it  beforehand," 
he  said;  "  but  there's  not  the  ghost  of  a  chance  for 
me.  It's  dangerous  for  everyone;  that  she  knows 
as  well  as  I  do;  but  the  smugglers  will  do  their 
best  to  prevent  her  getting  taken.  They  are  good 
fellows,  though  they  are  a  bit  rough.  As  for  me, 
the  rope  is  round  my  neck,  and  when  I  cross  the 
frontier  I  pull  the  noose." 

"  Rivarez,  what  do  you  mean?  Of  course  it's 
dangerous,  and  particularly  so  for  you;  I  under- 
stand that;  but  you  have  often  crossed  the  frontier 
before  and  always  been  successful." 

"  Yes,  and  this  time  I  shall  fail." 

"  But  why?     How  can  you  know?  " 

The  Gadfly  smiled  drearily. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  German  legend  of  the 
man  that  died  when  he  met  his  own  Double?  No? 
It  appeared  to  him  at  night  in  a  lonely  place, 
wringing  its  hands  in  despair.  Well,  I  met  mine 
the  last  time  I  was  in  the  hills;  and  when  I  cross 
the  frontier  again  I  shan't  come  back." 


262  THE  GADFLY. 

Martini  came  up  to  him  and  put  a  hand  on  the 
back  of  his  chair. 

"  Listen,  Rivarez;  I  don't  understand  a  word 
of  all  this  metaphysical  stuff,  but  I  do  understand 
one  thing:  If  you  feel  about  it  that  way,  you  are 
not  in  a  fit  state  to  go.  The  surest  way  to  get 
taken  is  to  go  with  a  conviction  that  you  will  be 
taken.  You  must  be  ill,  or  out  of  sorts  somehow, 
to  get  maggots  of  that  kind  into  your  head.  Sup- 
pose I  go  instead  of  you?  I  can  do  any  practical 
work  there  is  to  be  done,  and  you  can  send  a  mes- 
sage to  your  men,  explaining " 

"And  let  you  get  killed  instead?  That  would 
be  very  clever." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  likely  to  get  killed!  They  don't 
know  me  as  they  do  you.  And,  besides,  even  if 
I  did " 

He  stopped,  and  the  Gadfly  looked  up  with  a 
slow,  inquiring  gaze.  Martini's  hand  dropped  by 
his  side. 

"  She  very  likely  wouldn't  miss  me  as  much  as 
she  would  you,"  he  said  in  his  most  matter-of-fact 
voice.  "  And  then,  besides,  Rivarez,  this  is  public 
business,  and  we  have  to  look  at  it  from  the  point 
of  view  of  utility — the  greatest  good  of  the  great- 
est number.  Your  '  final  value  ' — isn't  that  what 
the  economists  call  it? — is  higher  than  mine;  I 
have  brains  enough  to  see  that,  though  I  haven't 
any  cause  to  be  particularly  fond  of  you.  You 
are  a  bigger  man  than  I  am;  I'm  not  sure  that 
you  are  a  better  one,  but  there's  more  of  you, 
and  your  death  would  be  a  greater  loss  than 
mine." 

From  the  way  he  spoke  he  might  have  been  dis- 
cussing the  value  of  snares  on  the  Exchange.  The 
Gadfly  looked  up,  shivering  as  if  with  cold. 


THE  GADFLY.  263 

"  Would  you  have  me  wait  till  my  grave  opens 
of  itself  to  swallow  me  up? 

"  Tf  I  must  die, 
I  will  encounter  darkness  as  a  bride 


Look  here,  Martini,  you  and  I  are  talking 
nonsense." 

"  You  are,  certainly,"  said  Martini  gruffly. 

"  Yes,  and  so  are  you.  For  Heaven's  sake,  don't 
let's  go  in  for  romantic  self-sacrifice,  like  Don 
Carlos  and  Marquis  Posa.  This  is  the  nineteenth 
century;  and  if  it's  my  business  to  die,  I  have  got 
to  do  it." 

"  And  if  it's  my  business  to  live,  I  have  got  to 
do  that,  I  suppose.  You're  the  lucky  one, 
Rivarez." 

"  Yes,"  the  Gadfly  assented  laconically;  "  I  was 
always  lucky." 

They  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  began  to  talk  of  business  details.  When 
Gemma  came  up  to  call  them  to  dinner,  neither 
of  them  betrayed  in  face  or  manner  that  their 
conversation  had  been  in  any  way  unusual. 
After  dinner  they  sat  discussing  plans  and  making 
necessary  arrangements  till  eleven  o'clock,  when 
Martini  rose  and  took  his  hat. 

"  I  will  go  home  and  fetch  that  riding-cloak  of 
mine,  Rivarez.  I  think  you  will  be  less  recog- 
nizable in  it  than  in  your  light  suit.  I  want  to 
reconnoitre  a  bit,  too,  and  make  sure  there  are  no 
spies  about  before  we  start." 

"  Are  you  coming  with  me  to  the  barrier?  " 

'  Yes;  it's  safer  to  have  four  eyes  than  two  in 
case  of  anyone  following  you.  I'll  be  back  by 
twelve.  Be  sure  you  don't  start  without  me.  I 


264  THE   GADFLY. 

had  better  take  the  key,  Gemma,  so  as  not  to  wake 
anyone  by  ringing." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  as  he  took  the 
keys.  She  understood  that  he  had  invented  a  pre- 
text in  order  to  leave  her  alone  with  the  Gadfly. 

'  You  and  I  will  talk  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
"  We  shall  have  time  in  the  morning,  when  my 
packing  is  finished." 

"  Oh,  yes!  Plenty  of  time.  There  are  two  or 
three  little  things  I  want  to  ask  you  about,  Riva- 
rez;  but  we  can  talk  them  over  on  our  way  to  the 
barrier.  You  had  better  send  Katie  to  bed, 
Gemma;  and  be  as  quiet  as  you  can,  both  of  you. 
Good-bye  till  twelve,  then." 

He  went  away  with  a  little  nod  and  smile,  bang- 
ing the  door  after  him  to  let  the  neighbours  hear 
that  Signora  Bolla's  visitor  was  gone. 

Gemma  went  out  into  the  kitchen  to  say  good- 
night to  Katie,  and  came  back  with  black  coffee 
on  a  tray. 

"  Would  you  like  to  lie  down  a  bit?  "  she  said. 
'  You  won't  have  any  sleep  the  rest  of  the  night." 

"Oh,  dear  no!  I  shall  sleep  at  San  Lorenzo 
while  the  men  are  getting  my  disguise  ready." 

'Then  have  some  coffee.  Wait  a  minute;  I 
will  get  you  out  the  biscuits." 

As  she  knelt  down  at  the  side-board  he  suddenly 
stooped  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Whatever  have  you  got  there?  Chocolate 
creams  and  English  toffee!  Why,  this  is  1-luxury 
for  a  king!  " 

She  looked  up,  smiling  faintly  at  his  enthusiastic 
tone. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  sweets?  I  always  keep  them 
for  Cesare;  he  is  a  perfect  baby  over  any  kind  of 
lollipops." 


THE  GADFLY.  265 

"  R-r-really?  Well,  you  must  get  him  s-some 
more  to-morrow  and  give  me  these  to  take  with 
me.  No,  let  me  p-p-put  the  toffee  in  my  pocket; 
it  will  console  me  for  all  the  lost  joys  of  life.  I 
d-do  hope  they'll  give  me  a  bit  of  toffee  to  suck 
the  day  I'm  hanged." 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  find  a  cardboard  box  for  it,  at 
least,  before  you  put  it  in  your  pocket!  You 
will  be  so  sticky!  Shall  I  put  the  chocolates  in, 
too?  " 

"  No,  I  want  to  eat  them  now,  with  you." 

"  But  I  don't  like  chocolate,  and  I  want  you  to 
come  and  sit  down  like  a  reasonable  human  being. 
We  very  likely  shan't  have  another  chance  to  talk 
quietly  before  one  or  other  of  us  is  killed,  and " 

"She  d-d-doesn't  like  chocolate!"  he  mur- 
mured under  his  breath.  "  Then  I  must  be  greedy 
all  by  myself.  This  is  a  case  of  the  hangman's 
supper,  isn't  it?  You  are  going  to  humour  all  my 
whims  to-night.  First  of  all,  I  want  you  to  sit 
on  this  easy-chair,  and,  as  you  said  I  might  lie 
down,  I  shall  lie  here  and  be  comfortable." 

He  threw  himself  down  on  the  rug  at  her  feet, 
leaning  his  elbow  on  the  chair  and  looking  up  into 
her  face. 

"  How  pale  you  are!  "  he  said.  "  That's  because 
you  take  life  sadly,  and  don't  like  chocolate " 

"  Do  be  serious  for  just  five  minutes!  After  all, 
it  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

"  Not  even  for  two  minutes,  dear;  neither  life 
nor  death  is  worth  it." 

He  had  taken  hold  of  both  her  hands  and  was 
stroking  them  with  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

"  Don't  look  so  grave,  Minerva!  You'll  make 
me  cry  in  a  minute,  and  then  you'll  be  sorry.  I  do 
wish  you'd  smile  again ;  you  have  such  a  d-delight- 


266  THE  GADFLY. 

fully  unexpected  smile.  There  now,  don't  scold 
me,  dear!  Let  us  eat  our  biscuits  together,  like 
two  good  children,  without  quarrelling  over  them 
— for  to-morrow  we  die." 

He  took  a  sweet  biscuit  from  the  plate  and 
carefully  halved  it,  breaking  the  sugar  ornament 
down  the  middle  with  scrupulous  exactness. 

"  This  is  a  kind  of  sacrament,  like  what  the 
goody-goody  people  have  in  church.  '  Take,  eat ; 
this  is  my  body.'  "  And  we  must  d-drink  the  wine 
out  of  the  s-s-same  glass,  you  know — yes,  that  is 
right.  '  Do  this  in  remembrance 

She  put  down  the  glass. 

"Don't!"  she  said,  with  almost  a  sob.  He 
looked  up,  and  took  her  hands  again. 

"  Hush,  then!  Let  us  be  quiet  for  a  little  bit. 
When  one  of  us  dies,  the  other  will  remember  this. 
We  will  forget  this  loud,  insistent  world  that  howls 
about  our  ears;  we  will  go  away  together,  hand  in 
hand;  we  will  go  away  into  the  secret  halls  of 
death,  and  lie  among  the  poppy-flowers.  Hush! 
We  will  be  quite  still." 

He  laid  his  head  down  against  her  knee  and  cov- 
ered his  face.  In  the  silence  she  bent  over  him, 
her  hand  on  the  black  head.  So  the  time  slipped 
on  and  on;  and  they  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

"  Dear,  it  is  almost  twelve,"  she  said  at  last. 
He  raised  his  head. 

"We  have  only  a  few  minutes  more;  Martini 
will  be  back  presently.  Perhaps  we  shall  never 
see  each  other  again.  Have  you  nothing  to  say 
to  me?  " 

He  slowly  rose  and  walked  away  to  the  other 
side  of  the  room.  There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  I  have  one  thing  to  say,"  he  began  in  a  hardly 
audible  voice;  "  one  thing — to  tell  you " 


THE  GADFLY.  267 

He  stopped  and  sat  down  by  the  window,  hid- 
ing his  face  in  both  hands. 

"  You  have  been  a  long  time  deciding  to  be 
merciful,"  she  said  softly. 

"  I  have  not  seen  much  mercy  in  my  life;  and  I 
thought — at  first — you  wouldn't  care " 

"  You  don't  think  that  now." 

She  waited  a  moment  for  him  to  speak  and  then 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth  at  last,"  she  whispered. 
"  Think,  if  you  are  killed  and  I  not — I  should  have 
to  go  through  all  my  life  and  never  know — never 
be  quite  sure " 

He  took  her  hands  and  clasped  them  tightly. 

"  If  I  am  killed You  see,  when  I  went  to 

South  America Ah,  Martini!" 

He  broke  away  with  a  violent  start  and  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  room.  Martini  was  rubbing 
his  boots  on  the  mat. 

"  Punctual  to  the  m-m-minute,  as  usual! 
You're  an  an-n-nimated  chronometer,  Martini.  Is 
that  the  r-r-riding-cloak?  " 

:<  Yes;  and  two  or  three  other  things.  I  have 
kept  them  as  dry  as  I  could,  but  it's  pouring  with 
rain.  You  will  have  a  most  uncomfortable  ride, 
I'm  afraid." 

"  Oh,  that's  no  matter.     Is  the  street  clear?  " 

"  Yes;  all  the  spies  seem  to  have  gone  to  bed. 
I  don't  much  wonder  either,  on  such  a  villainous 
night.  Is  that  coffee,  Gemma?  He  ought  to 
have  something  hot  before  he  goes  out  into  the 
wet,  or  he  will  catch  cold." 

"  It  is  black  coffee,  and  very  strong.  I  will  boil 
some  milk." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen,  passionately  clench- 
ing her  teeth  and  hands  to  keep  from  breaking 


268  THE  GADFLY. 

down.  When  she  returned  with  the  milk  the  Gad- 
fly had  put  on  the  riding-cloak  and  was  fastening 
the  leather  gaiters  which  Martini  had  brought. 
He  drank  a  cup  of  coffee,  standing,  and  took  up 
the  broad-brimmed  riding  hat. 

"  I  think  it's  time  to  start,  Martini;  we  must 
make  a  round  before  we  go  to  the  barrier,  in  case 
of  anything.  Good-bye,  for  the  present,  signora; 
I  shall  meet  you  at  Forli  on  Friday,  then,  unless 
anything  special  turns  up.  Wait  a  minute;  th-this 
is  the  address." 

He  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his  pocket-book  and  wrote 
a'  few  words  in  pencil. 

"  I  have  it  already,"  she  said  in  a  dull,  quiet 
voice. 

"  H-have  you?  Well,  there  it  is,  anyway. 
Come,  Martini.  Sh-sh-sh!  Don't  let  the  door 
creak!" 

They  crept  softly  downstairs.  When  the  street 
door  clicked  behind  them  she  went  back  into  the 
room  and  mechanically  unfolded  the  paper  he  had 
put  into  her  hand.  Underneath  the  address  was 
written: 

"  I  will  tell  you  everything  there." 


CHAPTER  II. 

IT  was  market-day  in  Brisighella,  and  the  coun- 
try folk  had  come  in  from  the  villages  and  hamlets 
of  the  district  with  their  pigs  and  poultry,  their 
4airy  produce  and  droves  of  half-wild  mountain 
cattle.  The  market-place  was  thronged  with  a 
perpetually  shifting  crowd,  laughing,  joking,  bar- 
gaining for  dried  figs,  cheap  cakes,  and  sunflower 
seeds.  The  brown,  bare-footed  children  sprawled, 


THE  GADFLY.  269 

face  downward,  on  the  pavement  in  the  hot  sun, 
while  their  mothers  sat  under  the  trees  with  their 
baskets  of  butter  and  eggs. 

Monsignor  Montanelli,  coming  out  to  wish  the 
people  "  Good-morning,"  was  at  once  surrounded 
by  a  clamourous  throng  of  children,  holding  up  for 
his  acceptance  great  bunches  of  irises  and  scarlet 
poppies  and  sweet  white  narcissus  from  the  moun- 
tain slopes.  His  passion  for  wild  flowers  was 
affectionately  tolerated  by  the  people,  as  one  of 
the  little  follies  which  sit  gracefully  on  very  wise 
men.  If  anyone  less  universally  beloved  had  filled 
his  house  with  weeds  and  grasses  they  would  have 
laughed  at  him;  but  the  "  blessed  Cardinal  "  could 
afford  a  few  harmless  eccentricities. 

"  Well,  Mariuccia,"  he  said,  stopping  to  pat  one 
of  the  children  on  the  head;  "you  have  grown 
since  I  saw  you  last.  And  how  is  the  grand- 
mother's rheumatism?  " 

"  She's  been  better  lately,  Your  Eminence,  but 
mother's  bad  now." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that;  tell  the  mother  to 
come  down  here  some  day  and  see  whether  Dr. 
Giordani  can  do  anything  for  her.  I  will  find 
somewhere  to  put  her  up;  perhaps  the  change 
will  do  her  good.  You  are  looking  better,  Luigi; 
how  are  your  eyes?  " 

He  passed  on,  chatting  with  the  mountaineers. 
He  always  remembered  the  names  and  ages  of 
the  children,  their  troubles  and  those  of  their 
parents;  and  would  stop  to  inquire,  with  sympa- 
thetic interest,  for  the  health  of  the  cow  that  fell 
sick  at  Christmas,  or  of  the  rag-doll  that  was 
crushed  under  a  cart-wheel  last  market-day. 

When  he  returned  to  the  palace  the  marketing 
began.  A  lame  man  in  a  blue  shirt,  with  a  shock 


270  THE  GADFLY. 

of  black  hair  hanging  into  his  eyes  and  a  deep  scar 
across  the  left  cheek,  lounged  up  to  one  of  the 
booths  and,  in  very  bad  Italian,  asked  for  a  drink 
of  lemonade. 

"  You're  not  from  these  parts,"  said  the  woman 
who  poured  it  out,  glancing  up  at  him. 

"  No.     I  come  from  Corsica." 

"  Looking  for  work?  " 

"  Yes;  it  will  be  hay-cutting  time  soon,  and  a 
gentleman  that  has  a  farm  near  Ravenna  came 
across  to  Bastia  the  other  day  and  told  me  there's 
plenty  of  work  to  be  got  there." 

"  I  hope  you'll  find  it  so,  I'm  sure,  but  times  are 
bad  hereabouts." 

"  They're  worse  in  Corsica,  mother.  I  don't 
know  what  we  poor  folk  are  coming  to." 

"  Have  you  come  over  alone?  " 

"  No,  my  mate  is  with  me;  there  he  is,  in  the 
red  shirt.  Hola,  Paolo!  " 

Michele  hearing  himself  called,  came  lounging 
up  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He  made  a 
fairly  good  Corsican,  in  spite  of  the  red  wig  which 
he  had  put  on  to  render  himself  unrecognizable. 
As  for  the  Gadfly,  he  looked  his  part  to  perfection. 

They  sauntered  through  the  market-place  to- 
gether, Michele  whistling  between  his  teeth,  and 
the  Gadfly  trudging  along  with  a  bundle  over  his 
shoulder,  shuffling  his  feet  on  the  ground  to  ren- 
der his  lameness  less  observable.  They  were  wait- 
ing for  an  emissary,  to  whom  important  directions 
had  to  be  given. 

"  There's  Marcone,  on  horseback,  at  that  cor- 
ner," Michele  whispered  suddenly.  The  Gadfly, 
still  carrying  his  bundle,  shuffled  towards  the 
horseman. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  be  wanting  a  hay-maker, 


THE  GADFLY.  371 

sir?  y>  he  said,  touching  his  ragged  cap  and  run- 
ning one  finger  along  the  bridle.  It  was  the  sig- 
nal agreed  upon,  and  the  rider,  who  from  his 
appearance  might  have  been  a  country  squire's 
bailiff,  dismounted  and  threw  the  reins  on  the 
horse's  neck. 

"  What  sort  of  work  can  you  do,  my  man?  " 

The  Gadfly  fumbled  with  his  cap. 

"  I  can  cut  grass,  sir,  and  trim  hedges  " — he 
began;  and  without  any  break  in  his  voice,  went 
straight  on:  "At  one  in  the  morning  at  the 
mouth  of  the  round  cave.  You  must  have  two 
good  horses  and  a  cart.  I  shall  be  waiting  inside 
the  cave And  then  I  can  dig,  sir,  and " 

"  That  will  do,  I  only  want  a  grass-cutter. 
Have  you  ever  been  out  before?  " 

"  Once,  sir.  Mind,  you  must  come  well-armed; 
we  may  meet  a  flying  squadron.  Don't  go  by  the 
wood-path;  you're  safer  on  the  other  side.  If 
you  meet  a  spy,  don't  stop  to  argue  with  him;  fire 
at  once I  should  be  very  glad  of  work,  sir." 

'  Yes,  I  dare  say,  but  I  want  an  experienced 
grass-cutter.  No,  I  haven't  got  any  coppers  to- 
day." 

A  very  ragged  beggar  had  slouched  up  to  them, 
with  a  doleful,  monotonous  whine. 

"  Have  pity  on  a  poor  blind  man,  in  the  name 

of  the  Blessed  Virgin Get  out  of  this  place  at 

once;  there's  a  flying  squadron  coming  along • 

Most  Holy  Queen  of  Heaven,  Maiden  undefiled — 
It's  you  they're  after,  Rivarez;  they'll  be  here  in 

two  minutes And  so  may  the  saints  reward 

you You'll  have  to  make  a  dash  for  it ;  there 

are  spies  at  all  the  corners.  It's  no  use  trying  to 
slip  away  without  being  seen." 


272  THE  GADFLY. 

Marcone  slipped  the  reins  into  the  Gadfly's 
hand. 

"Make  haste!  Ride  out  to  the  bridge  and  let 
the  horse  go;  you  can  hide  in  the  ravine.  We're 
all  armed;  we  can  keep  them  back  for  ten 
minutes." 

"  No.  I  won't  have  you  fellows  taken.  Stand 
together,  all  of  you,  and  fire  after  me  in  order. 
Move  up  towards  our  horses;  there  they  are,  teth- 
ered by  the  palace  steps;  and  have  your  knives 
ready.  We  retreat  fighting,  and  when  I  throw 
my  cap  down,  cut  the  halters  and  jump  every  man 
on  the  nearest  horse.  We  'may  all  reach  the  wood 
that  way." 

They  had  spoken  in  so  quiet  an  undertone  that 
even  the  nearest  bystanders  had  not  supposed 
their  conversation  to  refer  to  anything  more  dan- 
gerous than  grass-cutting.  Marcone,  leading  his 
own  mare  by  the  bridle,  walked  towards  the 
tethered  horses,  the  Gadfly  slouching  along  beside 
him,  and  the  beggar  following  them  with  an  out- 
stretched hand  and  a  persistent  whine.  Michele 
came  up  whistling;  the  beggar  had  warned  him 
in  passing,  and  he  quietly  handed  on  the  news  to 
three  countrymen  who  were  eating  raw  onions 
under  a  tree.  They  immediately  rose  and  fol- 
lowed him;  and  before  anyone's  notice  had  been 
attracted  to  them,  the  whole  seven  were  standing 
together  by  the  steps  of  the  palace,  each  man  with 
one  hand  on  the  hidden  pistol,  and  the  tethered 
horses  within  easy  reach. 

"  Don't  betray  yourselves  till  I  move,"  the  Gad- 
fly said  softly  and  clearly.  "  They  may  not  recog- 
nize us.  When  I  fire,  then  begin  in  order.  Don't 
fire  at  the  men;  lame  their  horses — then  they  can't 
follow  us.  Three  of  you  fire,  while  the  other 


THE  GADFLY.  273 

three  reload.  If  anyone  comes  between  you  and 
our  horses,  kill  him.  I  take  the  roan.  When  I 
throw  down  my  cap,  each  man  for  himself;  don't 
stop  for  anything." 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Michele;  and  the  Gadfly 
turned  round,  with  an  air  of  naive  and  stupid  won- 
der, as  the  people  suddenly  broke  off  in  their 
bargaining. 

Fifteen  armed  men  rode  slowly  into  the  market- 
place.    They  had  great  difficulty  to  get  past  the 
throng  of  people  at  all,  and,  but  for  the  spies  at 
the  corners  of  the  square,  all  the  seven  conspira- 
tors could  have  slipped  quietly  away  while  the 
attention  of  the  crowd  was  fixed  upon  the  soldiers. 
Michele  moved  a  little  closer  to  the  Gadfly. 
"  Couldn't  we  get  away  now?  " 
"  No;  we're  surrounded  with  spies,  and  one  of 
them  has  recognized  me.     He  has  just  sent  a  man 
to  tell  the  captain  where  I  am.     Our  only  chance 
is  to  lame  their  horses." 
"Which  is  the  spy?" 

"  The  first  man  I  fire  at.  Are  you  all  ready? 
They  have  made  a  lane  to  us;  they  are  going  to 
come  with  a  rush." 

"  Out  of  the  way  there!  "  shouted  the  captain. 
"  In  the  name  of  His  Holiness!  " 

The  crowd  had  drawn  back,  startled  and  won- 
dering; and  the  soldiers  made  a  quick  dash  towards 
the  little  group  standing  by  the  palace  steps. 
The  Gadfly  drew  a  pistol  from  his  blouse  and  fired, 
not  at  the  advancing  troops,  but  at  the  spy,  who 
was  approaching  the  horses,  and  who  fell  back 
with  a  broken  collar-bone.  Immediately  after 
the  report,  six  more  shots  were  fired  in  quick  suc- 
cession, as  the  conspirators  moved  steadily  closer 
to  the  tethered  horses. 


274  THE  GADFLY. 

One  of  the  cavalry  horses  stumbled  and 
plunged;  another  fell  to  the  ground  with  a  fearful 
cry.  Then,  through  the  shrieking  of  the  panic- 
stricken  people,  came  the  loud,  imperious  voice  of 
the  officer  in  command,  who  had  risen  in  the 
stirrups  and  was  holding  a  sword  above  his  head. 

"  This  way,  men!  " 

He  swayed  in  the  saddle  and  sank  back;  the 
Gadfly  had  fired  again  with  his  deadly  aim.  A 
little  stream  of  blood  was  trickling  down  the  cap- 
tain's uniform;  but  he  steadied  himself  with  a 
violent  effort,  and,  clutching  at  his  horse's  mane, 
cried  out  fiercely: 

"  Kill  that  lame  devil  if  you  can't  take  him  alive! 
It's  Rivarez!" 

"Another  pistol,  quick!"  the  Gadfly  called  to 
his  men;  "  and  go!  " 

He  flung  down  his  cap.  It  was  only  just  in 
time,  for  the  swords  of  the  now  infuriated  soldiers 
were  flashing  close  in  front  of  him. 

"  Put  down  your  weapons,  all  of  you!  " 

Cardinal  Montanelli  had  stepped  suddenly  be- 
tween the  combatants;  and  one  of  the  soldiers 
cried  out  in  a  voice  sharp  with  terror: 

"  Your  Eminence!  My  God,  you'll  be  mur- 
dered!" 

Montanelli  only  moved  a  step  nearer,  and  faced 
the  Gadfly's  pistol. 

Five  of  the  conspirators  were  already  on  horse- 
back and  dashing  up  the  hilly  street.  Marcone 
sprang  on  to  the  back  of  his  mare.  In  the  mo- 
ment of  riding  away,  he  glanced  back  to  see 
whether  his  leader  was  in  need  of  help.  The  roan 
was  close  at  hand,  and  in  another  instant  all  would 
have  been  safe;  but  as  the  figure  in  the  scarlet 
cassock  stepped  forward,  the  Gadfly  suddenly 


THE  GADFLY.  275 

wavered  and  the  hand  with  the  pistol  sank  down. 
The  instant  decided  everything.  Immediately  he 
was  surrounded  and  flung  violently  to  the  ground, 
and  the  weapon  was  dashed  out  of  his  hand  by  a 
blow  from  the  flat  of  a  soldier's  sword.  Marcone 
struck  his  mare's  flank  with  the  stirrup;  the  hoofs 
of  the  cavalry  horses  were  thundering  up  the  hill 
behind  him;  and  it  would  have  been  worse  than 
useless  to  stay  and  be  taken  too.  Turning  in  the 
saddle  as  he  galloped  away,  to  fire  a  last  shot  in 
the  teeth  of  the  nearest  pursuer,  he  saw  the  Gad- 
fly, with  blood  on  his  face,  trampled  under  the  feet 
of  horses  and  soldiers  and  spies;  and  heard  the 
savage  curses  of  the  captors,  the  yells  of  triumph 
and  rage. 

Montanelli  did  not  notice  what  had  happened; 
he  had  moved  away  from  the  steps,  and  was  trying 
to  calm  the  terrified  people.  Presently,  as  he 
stooped  over  the  wounded  spy,  a  startled  move- 
ment of  the  crowd  made  him  look  up.  The  sol- 
diers were  crossing  the  square,  dragging  their 
prisoner  after  them  by  the  rope  with  which  his 
hands  were  tied.  His  face  was  livid  with  pain  and 
exhaustion,  and  he  panted  fearfully  for  breath; 
but  he  looked  round  at  the  Cardinal,  smiling  with 
white  lips,  and  whispered: 

"  I  c-cong-gratulate  your  Eminence." 

Five  days  later  Martini  reached  Forli.  He 
had  received  from  Gemma  by  post  a  bundle  of 
printed  circulars,  the  signal  agreed  upon  in  case  of 
his  being  needed  in  any  special  emergency;  and, 
remembering  the  conversation  on  the  terrace,  he 
guessed  the  truth  at  once.  All  through  the  jour- 
ney he  kept  repeating  to  himself  that  there  was 
no  reason  for  supposing  anything  to  have  hap- 


276  THE  GADFLY. 

pened  to  the  Gadfly,  and  that  it  was  absurd  to 
attach  any  importance  to  the  childish  supersti- 
tions of  so  nervous  and  fanciful  a  person;  but  the 
more  he  reasoned  with  himself  against  the  idea, 
the  more  firmly  did  it  take  possession  of  his  mind. 

"  I  have  guessed  what  it  is:  Rivarez  is  taken,  of 
course?  "  he  said,  as  he  came  into  Gemma's  room. 

"  He  was  arrested  last  Thursday,  at  Brisighella. 
He  defended  himself  desperately  and  wounded  the 
captain  of  the  squadron  and  a  spy." 

"Armed  resistance;  that's  bad!" 

"  It  makes  no  difference;  he  was  too  deeply 
compromised  already  for  a  pistol-shot  more  or  less 
to  affect  his  position  much." 

"  What  do  you  think  they  are  going  to  do  with 
him?" 

She  grew  a  shade  paler  even  than  before. 

"  I  think,"  she  said;  "  that  we  must  not  wait  to 
find  out  what  they  mean  to  do." 

"  You  think  we  shall  be  able  to  effect  a  rescue?  " 

"  We  must." 

He  turned  away  and  began  to  whistle,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back.  Gemma  let  him  think 
undisturbed.  She  was  sitting  still,  leaning  her 
head  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  looking 
out  into  vague  distance  with  a  fixed  and  tragic 
absorption.  When  her  face  wore  that  expression, 
it  had  a  look  of  Diirer's  "  Melancolia." 

"  Have  you  seen  him?  "  Martini  asked,  stop- 
ping for  a  moment  in  his  tramp. 

"  No;  he  was  to  have  met  me  here  the  next 
morning." 

'  Yes,  I  remember.     Where  is  he?  " 

"  In  the  fortress;  very  strictly  guarded,  and, 
they  say,  in  chains." 

lie  made  a  gesture  of  indifference. 


THE  GADFLY.  277 

"  Oh,  that's  no  matter;  a  good  file  will  get  rid 
of  any  number  of  chains.  If  only  he  isn't 
wounded " 

"  He  seems  to  have  been  slightly  hurt,  but 
exactly  how  much  we  don't  know.  I  think  you 
had  better  hear  the  account  of  it  from  Michele 
himself;  he  was  present  at  the  arrest." 

"  How  does  he  come  not  to  have  been  taken 
too?  Did  he  run  away  and  leave  Rivarez  in  the 
lurch?" 

"  It's  not  his  fault ;  he  fought  as  long  as  any- 
body did,  and  followed  the  directions  given  him  to 
the  letter.  For  that  matter,  so  did  they  all.  The 
only  person  who  seems  to  have  forgotten,  or 
somehow  made  a  mistake  at  the  last  minute,  is 
Rivarez  himself.  There's  something  inexplicable 
about  it  altogether.  Wait  a  moment;  I  will  call 
Michele." 

She  went  out  of  the  room,  anci  presently  came 
back  with  Michele  and  a  broad-shouldered  moun- 
taineer. 

"  This  is  Marco,"  she  said.  "  You  have  heard 
of  him;  he  is  one  of  the  smugglers.  He  has  just 
got  here,  and  perhaps  will  be  able  to  tell  us  more. 
Michele,  this  is  Cesare  Martini,  that  I  spoke  to 
you  about.  Will  you  tell  him  what  happened,  as 
far  as  you  saw  it?  " 

Michele  gave  a  short  account  of  the  skirmish 
with  the  squadron. 

"  I  can't  understand  how  it  happened,"  he  con- 
cluded. "  Not  one  of  us  would  have  left  him  if 
we  had  thought  he  would  be  taken;  but  his  direc- 
tions were  quite  precise,  and  it  never  occurred  to 
us,  when  he  threw  down  his  cap,  that  he  would 
wait  to  let  them  surround  him.  He  was  close  be- 
side the  roan — I  saw  him  cut  the  tether — and  I 


278  THE  GADFLY. 

handed  him  a  loaded  pistol  myself  before  I 
mounted.  The  only  thing  I  can  suppose  is  that 
he  missed  his  footing, — being  lame, — in  trying  to 
mount.  But  even  then,  he  could  have  fired." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  that,"  Marcone  interposed. 
"  He  didn't  attempt  to  mount.  I  was  the  last  one 
to  go,  because  my  mare  shied  at  the  firing;  and  I 
looked  round  to  see  whether  he  was  safe.  He 
would  have  got  off  clear  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
Cardinal." 

"Ah!"  Gemma  exclaimed  softly;  and  Martini 
repeated  in  amazement:  "The  Cardinal?" 

"  Yes;  he  threw  himself  in  front  of  the  pistol — 
confound  him!  I  suppose  Rivarez  must  have 
been  startled,  for  he  dropped  his  pistol-hand  and 
put  the  other  one  up  like  this  "  —laying  the  back 
of  his  left  wrist  across  his  eyes — "  and  of  course 
they  all  rushed  on  him." 

"I  can't  make  that  out,"  said  Michele.  "  It's 
not  like  Rivarez  to  lose  his  head  at  a  crisis." 

"  Probably  he  lowered  his  pistol  for  fear  of  kill- 
ing an  unarmed  man,"  Martini  put  in.  Michele 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Unarmed  men  shouldn't  poke  their  noses  into 
the  middle  of  a  fight.  War  is  war.  If  Rivarez 
had  put  a  bullet  into  His  Eminence,  instead  of  let- 
ting himself  be  caught  like  a  tame  rabbit,  there'd 
be  one  honest  man  the  more  and  one  priest  the 
less." 

He  turned  away,  biting  his  moustache.  His 
anger  was  very  near  to  breaking  down  in  tears. 

"  Anyway,"  said  Martini,  "  the  thing's  done, 
and  there's  no  use  wasting  time  in  discussing  how 
it  happened.  The  question  now  is  how  we're  to 
arrange  an  escape  for  him.  I  suppose  you're  all 
willing  to  risk  it?  " 


THE  GADFLY.  279 

Michele  did  not  even  condescend  to  answer  the 
superfluous  question,  and  the  smuggler  only  re- 
marked with  a  little  laugh:  "  I'd  shoot  my  own 
brother,  if  he  weren't  willing." 

"  Very  well,  then First  thing;  have  you 

got  a  plan  of  the  fortress?  " 

Gemma  unlocked  a  drawer  and  took  out  several 
sheets  of  paper. 

"  I  have  made  out  all  the  plans.  Here  is  the 
ground  floor  of  the  fortress;  here  are  the  upper 
and  lower  stories  of  the  towers,  and  here  the  plan 
of  the  ramparts.  These  are  the  roads  leading  to 
the  valley,  and  here  are  the  paths  and  hiding- 
places  in  the  mountains,  and  the  underground 
passages." 

"  Do  you  know  which  of  the  towers  he  is 
in?" 

"  The  east  one,  in  the  round  room  with  the 
grated  window.  I  have  marked  it  on  the  plan." 

"  How  did  you  get  your  information?  " 

"  From  a  man  nicknamed  '  The  Cricket/  a  sol- 
dier of  the  guard.  He  is  cousin  to  one  of  our 
men — Gino." 

"  You  have  been  quick  about  it." 

"  There's  no  time  to  lose.  Gino  went  into 
Brisighella  at  once;  and  some  of  the  plans  we 
already  had.  That  list  of  hiding-places  was  made 
by  Rivarez  himself;  you  can  see  by  the  hand- 
writing." 

"  What  sort  of  men  are  the  soldiers  of  the 
guard?" 

"  That  we  have  not  been  able  to  find  out  yet ; 
the  Cricket  has  only  just  come  to  the  place,  and 
knows  nothing  about  the  other  men." 

"  We  must  find  out  from  Gino  what  the  Cricket 
himself  is  like.  Is  anything  known  of  the  govern- 


28o  THE  GADFLY. 

merit's  intentions?  Is  Rivarez  likely  to  be  tried 
in  Brisighella  or  taken  in  to  Ravenna?  " 

"  That  we  don't  know.  Ravenna,  of  course,  is 
the  chief  town  of  the  Legation  and  by  law  cases 
of  importance  can  be  tried  only  there,  in  the 
Tribunal  of  First  Instance.  But  law  doesn't  count 
for  much  in  the  Four  Legations;  it  depends  on  the 
personal  fancy  of  anybody  who  happens  to  be  in 
power." 

"  They  won't  take  him  in  to  Ravenna,"  Michele 
interposed. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  Colonel  Ferrari,  the  military 
Governor  at  Brisighella,  is  uncle  to  the  officer  that 
Rivarez  wounded;  he's  a  vindictive  sort  of  brute 
and  won't  give  up  a  chance  to  spite  an  enemy." 

"  You  think  he  will  try  to  keep  Rivarez  here?  " 

"  I  think  he  will  try  to  get  him  hanged." 

Martini  glanced  quickly  at  Gemma.  She  was 
very  pale,  but  her  face  had  not  changed  at  the 
words.  Evidently  the  idea  was  no  new  one  to  her. 

"  He  can  hardly  do  that  without  some  for- 
mality," she  said  quietly;  "  but  he  might  possibly 
get  up  a  court-martial  on  some  pretext  or  other, 
and  justify  himself  afterwards  by  saying  that  the 
peace  of  the  town  required  it." 

"  But  what  about  the  Cardinal?  Would  he 
consent  to  things  of  that  kind?  " 

"  He  has  no  jurisdiction  in  military  affairs." 

"  No,  but  he  has  great  influence.  Surely  the 
Governor  would  not  venture  on  such  a  step  with- 
out his  consent?  " 

"  He'll  never  get  that,"  Marcone  interrupted. 
"  Montanelli  was  always  against  the  military 
commissions,  and  everything  of  the  kind.  So 
long  as  they  keep  him  in  Brisighella  nothing 


THE  GADFLY.  281 

serious  can  happen;  the  Cardinal  will  always  take 
the  part  of  any  prisoner.  What  I  am  afraid  of  is 
their  taking  him  to  Ravenna.  Once  there,  he's 
lost." 

"  We  shouldn't  let  him  get  there,"  said  Michele. 
"  We  could  manage  a  rescue  on  the  road ;  but  to 
get  him  out  of  the  fortress  here  is  another 
matter." 

"I  think,"  said  Gemma;  "that  it  would  be 
quite  useless  to  wait  for  the  chance  of  his  being 
transferred  to  Ravenna.  We  must  make  the  at- 
tempt at  Brisighella,  and  we  have  no  time  to  lose. 
Cesare,  you  and  I  had  better  go  over  the  plan  of 
the  fortress  together,  and  see  whether  we  can 
think  out  anything.  I  have  an  idea  in  my  head, 
but  I  can't  get  over  one  point." 

"Come,  Marcone,"  said  Michele,  rising;  "we 
will  leave  them  to  think  out  their  scheme.  I  have 
to  go  across  to  Fognano  this  afternoon,  and  I 
want  you  to  come  with  me.  Vincenzo  hasn't  sent 
those  cartridges,  and  they  ought  to  have  been 
here  yesterday." 

When  the  two  men  had  gone,  Martini  went  up 
to  Gemma  and  silently  held  out  his  hand.  She  let 
her  fingers  lie  in  his  for  a  moment. 

"  You  were  always  a  good  friend,  Cesare,"  she 
said  at  last ;  "  and  a  very  present  help  in  trouble. 
And  now  let  us  discuss  plans." 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  AND  I  once  more  most  earnestly  assure  Your 
Eminence  that  your  refusal  is  endangering  the 
peace  of  the  town." 

The  Governor  tried  to  preserve  the  respectful 


282  THE  GADFLY. 

tone  due  to  a  high  dignitary  of  the  Church;  but 
there  was  audible  irritation  in  his  voice.  His  liver 
was  out  of  order,  his  wife  was  running  up  heavy 
bills,  and  his  temper  had  been  sorely  tried  during 
the  last  three  weeks.  A  sullen,  disaffected  popu- 
lace, whose  dangerous  mood  grew  daily  more 
apparent;  a  district  honeycombed  with  plots  and 
bristling  with  hidden  weapons;  an  inefficient  garri- 
son, of  whose  loyalty  he  was  more  than  doubtful, 
and  a  Cardinal  whom  he  had  pathetically  described 
to  his  adjutant  as  the  "  incarnation  of  immaculate 
pig-headeclness,"  had  already  reduced  him  to  the 
verge  of  desperation.  Now  he  was  saddled  with 
the  Gadfly,  an  animated  quintessence  of  the  spirit 
of  mischief. 

Having  begun  by  disabling  both  the  Governor's 
favourite  nephew  and  his  most  valuable  spy,  the 
"  crooked  Spanish  devil  "  had  followed  up  his  ex- 
ploits in  the  market-place  by  suborning  the 
guards,  browbeating  the  interrogating  officers, 
and  "  turning  the  prison  into  a  bear-garden."  He 
had  now  been  three  weeks  in  the  fortress,  and  the 
authorities  of  Brisighella  were  heartily  sick  of  their 
bargain.  They  had  subjected  him  to  interroga- 
tion upon  interrogation;  and  after  employing,  to 
obtain  admissions  from  him,  every  device  of  threat, 
persuasion,  and  stratagem  which  their  ingenuity 
could  suggest,  remained  just  as  wise  as  on  the  day 
of  his  capture.  They  had  begun  to  realize  that 
it  would  perhaps  have  been  better  to  send  him  into 
Ravenna  at  once.  It  was,  however,  too  late  to 
rectify  the  mistake.  The  Governor,  when  send- 
ing in  to  the  Legate  his  report  of  the  arrest,  had 
begged,  as  a  special  favour,  permission  to  superin- 
tend personally  the  investigation  of  this  case;  and, 
his  request  having  been  graciously  acceded  to,  he 


THE  GADFLY.  283 

could  not  now  withdraw  without  a  humiliating 
confession  that  he  was  overmatched. 

The  idea  of  settling  the  difficulty  by  a  court- 
martial  had,  as  Gemma  and  Michele  had  foreseen, 
presented  itself  to  him  as  the  only  satisfactory 
solution;  and  Cardinal  Montanelli's  stubborn  re- 
fusal to  countenance  this  was  the  last  drop  which 
made  the  cup  of  his  vexations  overflow. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  if  Your  Eminence  knew 
what  I  and  my  assistants  have  put  up  with  from 
this  man  you  would  feel  differently  about  the  mat- 
ter. I  fully  understand  and  respect  the  con- 
scientious objection  to  irregularities  in  judicial 
proceedings;  but  this  is  an  exceptional  case  and 
calls  for  exceptional  measures." 

"  There  is  no  case,"  Montanelli  answered, 
"which  calls  for  injustice;  and  to  condemn  a 
civilian  by  the  judgment  of  a  secret  military  tri- 
bunal is  both  unjust  and  illegal." 

"The  case  amounts  to  this,  Your  Eminence: 
The  prisoner  is  manifestly  guilty  of  several  capi- 
tal crimes.  He  joined  the  infamous  attempt  of 
Savigno,  and  the  military  commission  nominated 
by  Monsignor  Spinola  would  certainly  have  had 
him  shot  or  sent  to  the  galleys  then,  had  he  not 
succeeded  in  escaping  to  Tuscany.  Since  that 
time  he  has  never  ceased  plotting.  He  is  known 
to  be  an  influential  member  of  one  of  the  most 
pestilent  .secret  societies  in  the  country.  He  is 
gravely  suspected  of  having  consented  to,  if  not 
inspired,  the  assassination  of  no  less  than  three 
confidential  police  agents.  He  has  been  caught — 
one  might  almost  say — in  the  act  of  smuggling 
firearms  into  the  Legation.  He  has  offered  armed 
resistance  to  authority  and  seriously  wounded  two 
officials  in  the  discharge  of  their  duty,  and  he  is 


284  THE  GADFLY. 

now  a  standing  menace  to  the  peace  and  order  of 
the  town.  Surely,  in  such  a  case,  a  court-martial 
is  justifiable." 

"  Whatever  the  man  has  done,"  Montanelli  re- 
plied, "  he  has  the  right  to  be  judged  according 
to  law." 

"  The  ordinary  course  of  law  involves  delay,  Your 
Eminence,  and  in  this  case  every  moment  is  pre- 
cious. Besides  everything  else,  I  am  in  constant 
terror  of  his  escaping." 

"  If  there  is  any  danger  of  that,  it  rests  with  you 
to  guard  him  more  closely." 

"  I  do  my  best,  Your  Eminence,  but  I  am 
dependent  upon  the  prison  staff,  and  the  man 
seems  to  have  bewitched  them  all.  I  have 
changed  the  guard  four  times  within  three  weeks; 
I  have  punished  the  soldiers  till  I  am  tired  of  it, 
and  nothing  is  of  any  use.  I  can't  prevent  their 
carrying  letters  backwards  and  forwards.  The 
fools  are  in  love  with  him  as  if  he  were  a  woman.'' 

"  That  is  very  curious.  There  must  be  some- 
thing remarkable  about  him." 

"  There's  a  remarkable  amount  of  devilry — I 
beg  pardon,  Your  Eminence,  but  really  this  man  is 
enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  saint.  It's  hardly 
credible,  but  I  have  to  conduct  all  the  interroga- 
tions myself,  for  the  regular  officer  cannot  stand 
it  any  longer." 

"  How  is  that?  " 

"  It's  difficult  to  explain,  Your  Eminence,  but 
you  would  understand  if  you  had  once  heard  the 
way  he  goes  on.  One  might  think  the  interroga- 
ting officer  were  the  criminal  and  he  the  judge." 

"  But  what  is  there  so  terrible  that  he  can  do? 
He  can  refuse  to  answer  your  questions,  of  course; 
but  he  has  no  weapon  except  silence." 


THE  GADFLY.  285 

"  And  a  tongue  like  a  razor.  We  are  all  mortal, 
Your  Eminence,  and  most  of  us  have  made  mis- 
takes in  our  time  that  we  don't  want  published 
on  the  house-tops.  That's  only  human  nature, 
and  it's  hard  on  a  man  to  have  his  little  slips  of 
twenty  years  ago  raked  up  and  thrown  in  his 
teeth- 

"  Has  Rivarez  brought  up  some  personal  secret 
of  the  interrogating  officer?  " 

"  Well,  really — the  poor  fellow  got  into  debt 
when  he  was  a  cavalry  officer,  and  borrowed  a  lit- 
tle sum  from  the  regimental  funds " 

"  Stole  public  money  that  had  been  intrusted  to 
him,  in  fact?  " 

"  Of  course  it  was  very  wrong,  Your  Eminence; 
but  his  friends  paid  it  back  at  once,  and  the  affair 
was  hushed  up, — he  comes  of  a  good  family, — and 
ever  since  then  he  has  been  irreproachable.  How 
Rivarez  found  out  about  it  I  can't  conceive;  but 
the  first  thing  he  did  at  interrogation  was  to  bring 
up  this  old  scandal— before  the  subaltern,  too! 
And  with  as  innocent  a  face  as  if  he  were  saying 
his  prayers!  Of  course  the  stoiy's  all  over  the 
Legation  by  now.  If  Your  Eminence  would  only 
be  present  at  one  of  the  interrogations,  I  am  sure 
you  would  realize He  needn't  know  any- 
thing about  it.  You  might  overhear  him 
from " 

Montanelli  turned  round  and  looked  at  the  Gov- 
ernor with  an  expression  which  his  face  did  not 
often  wear. 

"  I  am  a  minister  of  religion,"  he  said;  "  not  a 
police-spy;  and  eavesdropping  forms  no  part  of 
my  professional  duties." 

"  I — I  didn't  mean  to  give  offence " 

"  I   think  we  shall  not   g«t   any   good   out   of 


286  THE  GADFLY. 

discussing  this  question  further.  If  you  will 
send  the  prisoner  here,  I  will  have  a  talk  with 
him." 

"I  venture  very  respectfully  to  advise  Your  Emi- 
nence not  to  attempt  it.  The  man  is  perfectly 
incorrigible.  It  would  be  both  safer  and  wiser  to 
overstep  the  letter  of  the  law  for  this  once,  and  get 
rid  of  him  before  he  does  any  more  mischief.  It 
is  with  great  diffidence  that  I  venture  to  press  the 
point  after  what  Your  Eminence  has  said;  but  after 
all  I  am  responsible  to  Monsignor  the  Legate  for 
the  order  of  the  town 

"  And  I,"  Montanelli  interrupted,  "  am  re- 
sponsible to  God  and  His  Holiness  that  there  shall 
be  no  underhand  dealing  in  my  diocese.  Since  you 
press  me  in  the  matter,  colonel,  I  take  my  stand 
upon  my  privilege  as  Cardinal.  I  will  not  allow  a 
secret  court-martial  in  this  town  in  peace-time.  I 
will  receive  the  prisoner  here,  and  alone,  at  ten  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  As  Your  Eminence  pleases,"  the  Governor 
replied  with  sulky  respectfulness;  and  went  away, 
grumbling  to  himself:  "  They're  about  a  pair,  as 
far  as  obstinacy  goes." 

He  told  no  one  of  the  approaching  interview  till 
it  was  actually  time  to  knock  off  the  prisoner's 
chains  and  start  for  the  palace.  It  was  quite 
enough,  as  he  remarked  to  his  wounded  nephew, 
to  have  this  Most  Eminent  son  of  Balaam's  ass 
laying  down  the  law,  without  running  any  risk  of 
the  soldiers  plotting  with  Rivarez  and  his  friends 
to  effect  an  escape  on  the  way. 

When  the  Gadfly,  strongly  guarded,  entered  the 
room  where  Montanelli  was  writing  at  a  table 
covered  with  papers,  a  sudden  recollection  came 
over  him,  of  a  hot  midsummer  afternoon  when  he 


THE  GADFLY.  287 

had  sat  turning  over  manuscript  sermons  in  a 
study  much  like  this.  The  shutters  had  been 
closed,  as  they  were  here,  to  keep  out  the  heat,  and 
a  fruitseller's  voice  outside  had  called:  "  Fragola! 
Fragola!" 

He  shook  the  hair  angrily  back  from  his  eyes 
and  set  his  mouth  in  a  smile. 

Montanelli  looked  up  from  his  papers. 

"  You  can  wait  in  the  hall,"  he  said  to  the 
guards. 

"  May  it  please  Your  Eminence,"  began  the  ser- 
geant, in  a  lowered  voice  and  with  evident  nerv- 
ousness, "  the  colonel  thinks  that  this  prisoner  is 
dangerous  and  that  it  would  be  better " 

A  sudden  flash  came  into  Montanelli's  eyes. 

"  You  can  wait  in  the  hall,"  he  repeated  quietly; 
and  the  sergeant,  saluting  and  stammering  ex- 
cuses with  a  frightened  face,  left  the  room  with 
his  men. 

"  Sit  down,  please,"  said  the  Cardinal,  when  the 
door  was  shut.  The  Gadfly  obeyed  in  silence. 

"  Signor  Rivarez,"  Montanelli  began  after  a 
pause,  "  I  wish  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  and 
shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  wil) 
answer  them." 

The  Gadfly  smiled.  "  My  ch-ch-chief  occupa- 
tion at  p-p-present  is  to  be  asked  questions." 

"  And — not  to  answer  them?  So  I  have  heard; 
but  those  questions  are  put  by  officials  who  are  in- 
vestigating your  case  and  whose  duty  is  to  use 
your  answers  as  evidence." 

"And  th-those  of  Your  Eminence?"  There 
was  a  covert  insult  in  the  tone  more  than  in  the 
words,  and  the  Cardinal  understood  it  at  once;  but 
his  face  did  not  lose  its  grave  sweetness  of 
expression. 


288  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Mine,"  he  said,  "  whether  you  answer  them 
or  not,  will  remain  between  you  and  me.  If  they 
should  trench  upon  your  political  secrets,  of  course 
you  will  not  answer.  Otherwise,  though  we  are 
complete  strangers  to  each  other,  I  hope  that  you 
will  do  so,  as  a  personal  favour  to  me." 

"  I  am  ent-t-tirely  at  the  service  of  Your  Emi- 
nence." He  said  it  with  a  little  bow,  and  a  face 
that  would  have  taken  the  heart  to  ask  favours  out 
of  the  daughters  of  the  horse-leech. 

"  First,  then,  you  are  said  to  have  been  smug- 
gling firearms  into  this  district.  What  are  they 
wanted  for?  " 

'  T-t-to  k-k-kill  rats  with." 

"  That  is  a  terrible  answer.  Are  all  your  fellow- 
men  rats  in  your  eyes  if  they  cannot  think  as  you 
do?" 

"  S-s-some  of  them." 

Montanelli  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked 
at  him  in  silence  for  a  little  while. 

"What  is  that  on  your  hand?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

The  Gadfly  glanced  at  his  left  hand.  "  Old 
m-m-marks  from  the  teeth  of  some  of  the  rats." 

"  Excuse  me;  I  was  speaking  of  the  other 
hand.  That  is  a  fresh  hurt." 

The  slender,  flexible  right  hand  was  badly  cut 
and  grazed.  The  Gadfly  held  it  up.  The  wrist 
was  swollen,  and  across  it  ran  a  deep  and  long 
black  bruise. 

"  It  is  a  m-m-mere  trifle,  as  you  see,"  he  said. 
"  When  I  was  arrested  the  other  day, — thanks  to 
Your  Eminence," — he  made  another  little  bow, — 
"  one  of  the  soldiers  stamped  on  it." 

Montanelli  took  the  wrist  and  examined  it 
closely.  "  How  does  it  come  to  be  in  such  a  state 


THE  GADFLY.  289 

now,  after  three  weeks? "  he  asked.  "  It  is  all 
inflamed." 

"  Possibly  the  p-p-pressure  of  the  iron  has  not 
done  it  much  good." 

The  Cardinal  looked  up  with  a  frown. 

"  Have  they  been  putting  irons  on  a  fresh 
wound?  " 

"  N-n-naturally,  Your  Eminence;  that  is  what 
fresh  wounds  are  for.  Old  wounds  are  not  much 
use.  They  will  only  ache;  you  c-c-can't  make 
them  burn  properly." 

Montanelli  looked  at  him  again  in  the  same 
close,  scrutinizing  way;  then  rose  and  opened  a 
drawer  full  of  surgical  appliances. 

"  Give  me  the  hand,"  he  said. 

The  Gadfly,  with  a  face  as  hard  as  beaten  iron, 
held  out  the  hand,  and  Montanelli,  after  bathing 
the  injured  place,  gently  bandaged  it.  Evidently 
he  was  accustomed  to  such  work. 

"  I  will  speak  about  the  irons,"  he  said.  "  And 
now  I  want  to  ask  you  another  question :  What  do 
you  propose  to  do?  " 

"  Th-th-that  is  very  simply  answered,  Your 
Eminence.  To  escape  if  I  can,  and  if  I  can't,  to 
die." 

"  Why  '  to  die  '  ?  " 

"  Because  if  the  Governor  doesn't  succeed  in 
getting  me  shot,  I  shall  be  sent  to  the  galleys,  and 
for  me  that  c-c-comes  to  the  same  thing.  I  have 
not  got  the  health  to  live  through  it." 

Montanelli  rested  his  arm  on  the  table  and 
pondered  silently.  The  Gadfly  did  not  disturb 
him.  He  was  leaning  back  with  half-shut  eyes, 
lazily  enjoying  the  delicious  physical  sensation  of 
relief  from  the  chains. 

"  Supposing,"   Montanelli  began  again,   "  that 


290  THE  GADFLY. 

you  were  to  succeed  in  escaping;  what  should  you 
do  with  your  life?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  Your  Eminence;  I  should 
k-k-kill  rats." 

"  You  would  kill  rats.  That  is  to  say,  that  if  I 
were  to  let  you  escape  from  here  now, — supposing 
I  had  the  power  to  do  so, — you  would  use  your 
freedom  to  foster  violence  and  bloodshed  instead 
of  preventing  them?  " 

The  Gadfly  raised  his  eyes  to  the  crucifix  on  the 
wall.  "'Not  peace,  but  a  sword'; — at  1-least  I 
should  be  in  good  company.  For  my  own  part, 
though,  I  prefer  pistols." 

"  Signor  Rivarez,"  said  the  Cardinal  with  un- 
ruffled composure,  "  I  have  not  insulted  you  as 
yet,  or  spoken  slightingly  of  your  beliefs  or  friends. 
May  I  not  expect  the  same  courtesy  from  you,  or 
do  you  wish  me  to  suppose  that  an  atheist  cannot 
be  a  gentleman?  " 

"  Ah,  I  q-quite  forgot.  Your  Eminence  places 
courtesy  high  among  the  Christian  virtues.  I  re- 
member your  sermon  in  Florence,  on  the  occasion 
of  my  c-controversy  with  your  anonymous 
defender." 

"  That  is  one  of  the  subjects  about  which  I 
wished  to  speak  to  you.  Would  you  mind 
explaining  to  me  the  reason  of  the  peculiar  bitter- 
ness you  seem  to  feel  against  me?  If  you  have 
simply  picked  me  out  as  a  convenient  target,  that 
is  another  matter.  Your  methods  of  political  con- 
troversy are  your  own  affair,  and  we  are  not  dis- 
cussing politics  now.  But  I  fancied  at  the  time 
that  there  was  some  personal  animosity  towards 
me;  and  if  so,  I  should  be  glad  to  know  whether  T 
have  ever  done  you  wrong  or  in  any  way  given  you 
cause  for  such  a  feeling." 


THE  GADFLY.  291 

Ever  done  him  wrong!  The  Gadfly  put  up  the 
bandaged  hand  to  his  throat.  "  I  must  refer  Your 
Eminence  to  Shakspere,"  he  said  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  It's  as  with  the  man  who  can't  endure 
a  harmless,  necessary  cat.  My  antipathy  is  a 
priest.  The  sight  of  the  cassock  makes  my 
t-t-teeth  ache." 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  only  that "  Montanelli  dis- 
missed the  subject  with  an  indifferent  gesture. 
"  Still,"  he  added,  "  abuse  is  one  thing  and  perver- 
sion of  fact  is  another.  When  you  stated,  in 
answer  to  my  sermon,  that  I  knew  the  identity 
of  the  anonymous  writer,  you  made  a  mistake, — I 
do  not  accuse  you  of  wilful  falsehood, — and  stated 
what  was  untrue.  I  am  to  this  day  quite  igno- 
rant of  his  name." 

The  Gadfly  put  his  head  on  one  side,  like  an 
intelligent  robin,  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
gravely,  then  suddenly  threw  himself  back  and 
burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  S-s-sancta  simplicitas!  Oh,  you  sweet,  inno- 
cent, Arcadian  people — and  you  never  guessed! 
You  n-never  saw  the  cloven  hoof?  " 

Montanelli  stood  up.  "  Am  I  to  understand, 
Signor  Rivarez,  that  you  wrote  both  sides  of  the 
controversy  yourself?  " 

"  It  was  a  shame,  I  know,"  the  Gadfly  answered, 
looking  up  with  wide,  innocent  blue  eyes.  "  And 
you  s-s-swallowed  everything  whole;  just  as  if  it 
had  been  an  oyster.  It  was  very  wrong;  but  oh, 
it  w-w-was  so  funny!  " 

Montanelli  bit  his  lip  and  sat  down  again.  He 
had  realized  from  the  first  that  the  Gadfly  was  try- 
ing to  make  him  lose  his  temper,  and  had  resolved 
to  keep  it  whatever  happened;  but  he  was  begin- 
ning to  find  excuses  for  the  Governor's  exaspera- 


292 


THE  GADFLY. 


tion.  A  man  who  had  been  spending  two  hours 
a  day  for  the  last  three  weeks  in  interrogating  the 
Gadfly  might  be  pardoned  an  occasional  swear- 
word. 

"  We  will  drop  that  subject,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  What  I  wanted  to  see  you  for  particularly  is  this: 
My  position  here  as  Cardinal  gives  me  some  voice, 
if  I  choose  to  claim  my  privilege,  in  the  question 
of  what  is  to  be  done  with  you.  The  only  use  to 
which  I  should  ever  put  such  a  privilege  would  be 
to  interfere  in  case  of  any  violence  to  you  which 
was  not  necessary  to  prevent  you  from  doing  vio- 
lence to  others.  I  sent  for  you,  therefore,  partly 
in  order  to  ask  whether  you  have  anything  to 
complain  of, — I  will  see  about  the  irons;  but  per- 
haps there  is  something  else, — and  partly  because 
I  felt  it  right,  before  giving  my  opinion,  to  see  for 
myself  what  sort  of  man  you  are." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of,  Your  Emi- 
nence. '  A  la  guerre  comme  a  la  guerre.'  I  am 
not  a  schoolboy,  to  expect  any  government  to  pat 
me  on  the  head  for  s-s-smuggling  firearms  onto  its 
territory.  It's  only  natural  that  they  should  hit 
as  hard  as  they  can.  As  for  what  sort  of  man  I 
am,  you  have  had  a  romantic  confession  of  my  sins 
once.  Is  not  that  enough;  or  w-w- would  you  like 
me  to  begin  again?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  Montanelli  said 
coldly,  taking  up  a  pencil  and  twisting  it  between 
his  fingers. 

"  Surely  Your  Eminence  has  not  forgotten  old 
Diego,  the  pilgrim?  "  He  suddenly  changed  his 
voice  and  began  to  speak  as  Diego:  "  I  am  a  miser- 
able sinner — 

The  pencil  snapped  in  Montanelli's  hand, 
"  That  is  too  much!  "  he  said. 


THE  GADFLY.  293 

The  Gadfly  leaned  his  head  back  with  a  soft  lit- 
tle laugh,  and  sat  watching  while  the  Cardinal 
paced  silently  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Signor  Rivarez,"  said  Montanelli,  stopping  at 
last  in  front  of  him,  "  you  have  done  a  thing  to  me 
that  a  man  who  was  born  of  a  woman  should  hesi- 
tate to  do  to  his  worst  enemy.  You  have  stolen 
in  upon  my  private  grief  and  have  made  for 
yourself  a  mock  and  a  jest  out  of  the  sorrow  of  a 
fellow-man.  I  once  more  beg  you  to  tell  me: 
Have  I  ever  done  you  wrong?  And  if  not,  why 
have  you  played  this  heartless  trick  on  me?  " 

The  Gadfly,  leaning  back  against  the  chair- 
cushions,  looked  up  with  his  subtle,  chilling, 
inscrutable  smile. 

"  It  am-m-mused  me,  Your  Eminence;  you  took 
it  all  so  much  to  heart,  and  it  rem-m-minded  me — 
a  little  bit — of  a  variety  show " 

Montanelli,  white  to  the  very  lips,  turned  away 
and  rang  the  bell. 

"  You  can  take  back  the  prisoner,"  he  said  when 
the  guards  came  in. 

After  they  had  gone  he  sat  down  at  the  table, 
still  trembling  with  unaccustomed  indignation, 
and  took  up  a  pile  of  reports  which  had  been  sent 
in  to  him  by  the  parish  priests  of  his  diocese. 

Presently  he  pushed  them  away,  and,  leaning  on 
the  table,  hid  his  face  in  both  hands.  The  Gadfly 
seemed  to  have  left  some  terrible  shadow  of  him- 
self, some  ghostly  trail  of  his  personality,  to  haunt 
the  room;  and  Montanelli  sat  trembling  and 
cowering,  not  daring  to  look  up  lest  he  should  see 
the  phantom  presence  that  he  knew  was  not  there. 
The  spectre  hardly  amounted  to  a  hallucination. 
It  was  a  mere  fancy  of  overwrought  nerves;  but 
he  was  seized  with  an  unutterable  dread  of  its 


394  THE  GADFLY. 

shadowy  presence — of  the  wounded  hand,  the 
smiling,  cruel  mouth,  the  mysterious  eyes,  like 
deep  sea  water — 

He  shook  off  the  fancy  and  settled  to  his  work. 
All  day  long  he  had  scarcely  a  free  moment,  and 
the  thing  did  not  trouble  him;  but  going  into  his 
bedroom  late  at  night,  he  stopped'  on  the  thresh- 
old with  a  sudden  shock  of  fear.  What  if  he 
should  see  it  in  a  dream?  He  recovered  himself 
immediately  and  knelt  down  before  the  crucifix 
to  pray. 

But  he  lay  awake  the  whole  night  through. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MONTANELLI'S  anger  did  not  make  him  neglect- 
ful of  his  promise.  He  protested  so  emphatically 
against  the  manner  in  which  the  Gadfly  had  been 
chained  that  the  unfortunate  Governor,  who  by 
now  was  at  his  wit's  end,  knocked  off  all  the  fet- 
ters in  the  recklessness  of  despair.  "  How  am  I 
to  know,"  he  grumbled  to  the  adjutant,  "  what 
His  Eminence  will  object  to  next?  If  he  calls  a 
simple  pair  of  handcuffs  '  cruelty,'  he'll  be  exclaim- 
ing against  the  window-bars  presently,  or  wanting 
me  to  feed  Rivarez  on  oysters  and  truffles.  In  my 
young  days  malefactors  were  malefactors  and 
were  treated  accordingly,  and  nobody  thought  a 
traitor  any  better  than  a  thief.  But  it's  the  fash- 
ion to  be  seditious  nowadays;  and  His  Eminence 
seems  inclined  to  encourage  all  the  scoundrels  in 
the  country." 

"  I  don't  see  what  business  he  has  got  to  inter- 
fere at  all,"  the  adjutant  remarked.  "  He  is  not 


THE  GADFLY.  295 

a  Legate  and  has  no  authority  in  civil  and  military 
affairs.  By  law " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  talking  about  law?  You 
can't  expect  anyone  to  respect  laws  after  the  Holy 
Father  has  opened  the  prisons  and  turned  the 
whole  crew  of  Liberal  scamps  loose  on  us!  It's 
a  positive  infatuation!  Of  course  Monsignor 
Montanelli  will  give  himself  airs;  he  was  quiet 
enough  under  His  Holiness  the  late  Pope,  but  he's 
cock  of  the  walk  now.  He  has  jumped  into 
favour  all  at  once  and  can  do  as  he  pleases.  How 
am  I  to  oppose  him?  He  may  have  secret  author- 
ization from  the  Vatican,  for  all  I  know.  Every- 
thing's topsy-turvy  now;  you  can't  tell  from  day 
to  day  what  may  happen  next.  In  the  good  old 
times  one  knew  what  to  be  at,  but  nowadays " 

The  Governor  shook  his  head  ruefully.  A 
world  in  which  Cardinals  troubled  themselves  over 
trifles  of  prison  discipline  and  talked  about  the 
"  rights  "  of  political  offenders  was  a  world  that 
was  growing  too  complex  for  him. 

The  Gadfly,  for  his  part,  had  returned  to  the  for- 
tress in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement  bordering 
on  hysteria.  The  meeting  with  Montanelli  had 
strained  his  endurance  almost  to  breaking-point; 
and  his  final  brutality  about  the  variety  show  had 
been  uttered  in  sheer  desperation,  merely  to  cut 
short  an  interview  which,  in  another  five  minutes, 
would  have  ended  in  tears. 

Called  up  for  interrogation  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  same  day,  he  did  nothing  but  go  into  convul- 
sions of  laughter  at  every  question  put  to  him; 
and  when  the  Governor,  worried  out  of  all 
patience,  lost  his  temper  and  began  to  swear,  he 
only  laughed  more  immoderately  than  ever.  The 
unlucky  Governor  fumed  and  stormed  and  threat- 


296  THE  GADFLY. 

ened  his  refractory  prisoner  with  impossible  pun- 
ishments; but  finally  came,  as  James  Burton  had 
come  long  ago,  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  mere 
waste  of  breath  and  temper  to  argue  with  a  per- 
son in  so  unreasonable  a  state  of  mind. 

The  Gadfly  was  once  more  taken  back  to  his  cell; 
and  there  lay  down  upon  the  pallet,  in  the  mood 
of  black  and  hopeless  depression  which  always  suc- 
ceeded to  his  boisterous  fits.  He  lay  till  evening 
without  moving,  without  even  thinking;  he  had 
passed,  after  the  vehement  emotion  of  the  morn- 
ing, into  a  strange,  half-apathetic  state,  in  which 
his  own  misery  was  hardly  more  to  him  than  a  dull 
and  mechanical  weight,  pressing  on  some  wooden 
thing  that  had  forgotten  to  be  a  soul.  In  truth, 
it  was  of  little  consequence  how  all  ended;  the  one 
thing  that  mattered  to  any  sentient  being  was  to 
be  spared  unbearable  pain,  and  whether  the  relief 
came  from  altered  conditions  or  from  the  deaden- 
ing of  the  power  to  feel,  was  a  question  of  no  mo- 
ment. Perhaps  he  would  succeed  in  escaping; 
perhaps  they  would  kill  him;  in  any  case  he 
should  never  see  the  Padre  again,  and  it  was  all 
vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 

One  of  the  warders  brought  in  supper,  and  the 
Gadfly  looked  up  with  heavy-eyed  indifference. 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"  Six  o'clock.     Your  supper,  sir." 

He  looked  with  disgust  at  the  stale,  foul-smell- 
ing, half-cold  mess,  and  turned  his  head  away. 
He  was  feeling  bodily  ill  as  well  as  depressed;  and 
the  sight  of  the  food  sickened  him. 

"  You  will  be  ill  if  you  don't  eat,"  said  the  sol- 
dier hurriedly.  '  Take  a  bit  of  bread,  anyway; 
it  '11  do  you  good." 

The  man  spoke  with  a  curious  earnestness  of 


THE  GADFLY.  297 

tone,  lifting  a  piece  of  sodden  bread  from  the  plate 
and  putting  it  down  again.  All  the  conspirator 
awoke  in  the  Gadfly;  he  had  guessed  at  once  that 
there  was  something  hidden  in  the  bread. 

"  You  can  leave  it;  I'll  eat  a  bit  by  and  by,"  he 
said  carelessly.  The  door  was  open,  and  he  knew 
that  the  sergeant  on  the  stairs  could  hear  every 
word  spoken  between  them. 

When  the  door  was  locked  on  him  again,  and 
he  had  satisfied  himself  that  no  one  was  watching 
at  the  spy-hole,  he  took  up  the  piece  of  bread  and 
carefully  crumbled  it  away.  In  the  middle  was 
the  thing  he  had  expected,  a  bundle  of  small  files. 
It  was  wrapped  in  a  bit  of  paper,  on  which  a  few 
words  were  written.  He  smoothed  the  paper  out 
carefully  and  carried  it  to  what  little  light  there 
was.  The  writing  was  crowded  into  so  narrow  a 
space,  and  on  such  thin  paper,  that  it  was  very 
difficult  to  read. 

'  The  door  is  unlocked,  and  there  is  no  moon. 
Get  the  filing  done  as  fast  as  possible,  and  come 
by  the  passage  between  two  and  three.  We  are 
quite  ready  and  may  not  have  another  chance." 

He  crushed  the  paper  feverishly  in  his  hand. 
All  the  preparations  were  ready,  then,  and  he  had 
only  to  file  the  window  bars;  how  lucky  it  was 
that  the  chains  were  off!  He  need  not  stop  about 
filing  them.  How  many  bars  were  there?  Two, 
four;  and  each  must  be  filed  in  two  places:  eight. 
Oh,  he  could  manage  that  in  the  course  of  the 

night  if  he  made  haste How  had  Gemma 

and  Martini  contrived  to  get  everything  ready 
so  quickly — disguises,  passports,  hiding-places? 
They  must  have  worked  like  cart-horses  to  do 


298  THE  GADFLY. 

it And    it    was    her    plan    that    had    been 

adopted  after  all.  He  laughed  a  little  to  himself 
at  his  own  foolishness;  as  if  it  mattered  whether 
the  plan  was  hers  or  not,  once  it  was  a  good  one! 
And  yet  he  could  not  help  being  glad  that  it  was 
she  who  had  struck  on  the  idea  of  his  utilizing  the 
subterranean  passage,  instead  of  letting  himself 
down  by  a  rope-ladder,  as  the  smugglers  had  at 
first  suggested.  Hers  was  the  more  complex 
and  difficult  plan,  but  did  not  involve,  as  the  other 
did,  a  risk  to  the  life  of  the  sentinel  on  duty  out- 
side the  east  wall.  Therefore,  when  the  two 
schemes  had  been  laid  before  him,  he  had  unhesi- 
tatingly chosen  Gemma's. 

The  arrangement  was  that  the  friendly  guard 
who  went  by  the  nickname  of  "  The  Cricket  " 
should  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  unlocking, 
without  the  knowledge  of  his  fellows,  the  iron  gate 
leading  from  the  courtyard  into  the  subterranean 
passage  underneath  the  ramparts,  and  should  then 
replace  the  key  on  its  nail  in  the  guard-room. 
The  Gadfly,  on  receiving  information  of  this,  was 
to  file  through  the  bars  of  his  window,  tear  his 
shirt  into  strips  and  plait  them  into  a  rope,  by 
means  of  which  he  could  let  himself  down  on  to 
the  broad  east  wall  of  the  courtyard.  Along  this 
wall  he  was  to  creep  on  hands  and  knees  while  the 
sentinel  was  looking  in  the  opposite  direction,  ly- 
ing flat  upon  the  masonry  whenever  the  man  turned 
towards  him.  At  the  southeast  corner  was  a  half- 
ruined  turret.  It  was  upheld,  to  some  extent,  by 
a  thick  growth  of  ivy;  but  great  masses  of  crum- 
bling stone  had  fallen  inward  and  lay  in  the  court- 
yard, heaped  against  the  wall.  From  this  turret 
he  was  to  climb  down  by  the  ivy  and  the  heaps  of 
stone  into  the  courtyard;  and,  softly  opening  the 


THE  GADFLY.  299 

unlocked  gate,  to  make  his  way  along  the  passage 
to  a  subterranean  tunnel  communicating  with  it. 
Centuries  ago  this  tunnel  had  formed  a  secret  cor- 
ridor between  the  fortress  and  a  tower  on  the 
neighbouring  hill;  now  it  was  quite  disused  and 
blocked  in  .many  places  by  the  falling  in  of  the 
rocks.  No  one  but  the  smugglers  knew  of  a  cer- 
tain carefully-hidden  hole  in  the  mountain-side 
which  they  had  bored  through  to  the  tunnel;  no 
one  suspected  that  stores  of  forbidden  merchan- 
dise were  often  kept,  for  weeks  together,  under 
the  very  ramparts  of  the  fortress  itself,  while  the 
customs-officers  were  vainly  searching  the  houses 
of  the  sullen,  wrathful-eyed  mountaineers.  At 
this  hole  the  Gadfly  was  to  creep  out  on  to  the 
hillside,  and  make  his  way  in  the  dark  to  a  lonely 
spot  where  Martini  and  a  smuggler  would  be 
waiting  for  him.  The  one  great  difficulty  was 
that  opportunities  to  unlock  the  gate  after  the 
evening  patrol  did  not  occur  every  night,  and  the 
descent  from  the  window  could  not  be  made  in 
very  clear  weather  without  too  great  a  risk  of 
being  observed  by  the  sentinel.  Now  that  there 
was  really  a  fair  chance  of  success,  it  must  not  be 
missed. 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  eat  some  of  the 
bread.  It  at  least  did  not  disgust  him  like  the 
rest  of  the  prison  food,  and  he  must  eat  something 
to  keep  up  his  strength. 

He  had  better  lie  down  a  bit,  too,  and  try  to 
get  a  little  sleep;  it  would  not  be  safe  to  begin 
filing  before  ten  o'clock,  and  he  would  have  a  hard 
night's  work. 

And  so,  after  all,  the  Padre  had  been  thinking 
of  letting  him  escape!  That  was  like  the  Padre. 
But  he,  for  his  part,  would  never  consent  to  it. 


300  THE  GADFLY. 

Anything  rather  than  that!  If  he  escaped,  it 
should  be  his  own  doing  and  that  of  his  comrades; 
he  would  have  no  favours  from  priests. 

How  hot  it  was!  Surely  it  must  be  going  to 
thunder;  the  air  was  so  close  and  oppressive.  He 
moved  restlessly  on  the  pallet  and  put  the  ban- 
daged right  hand  behind  his  head  for  a  pillow; 
then  drew  it  away  again.  How  it  burned  and 
throbbed!  And  all  the  old  wounds  were  begin- 
ning to  ache,  with  a  dull,  faint  persistence.  What 
was  the  matter  with  them?  Oh,  absurd!  It  was 
only  the  thundery  weather.  He  would  go  to 
sleep  and  get  a  little  rest  before  beginning  his 
filing. 

Eight  bars,  and  all  so  thick  and  strong!  How 
many  more  were  there  left  to  file?  Surely  not 
many.  He  must  have  been  filing  for  hours, — 
interminable  hours — yes,  of  course,  that  was  what 
made  his  arm  ache —  And  how  it  ached;  right 
through  to  the  very  bone!  But  it  could  hardly  be 
the  filing  that  made  his  side  ache  so;  and  the 
throbbing,  burning  pain  in  the  lame  leg — was 
that  from  filing? 

He  started  up.  No,  he  had  not  been  asleep;  he 
had  been  dreaming  with  open  eyes — dreaming  of 
filing,  and  it  was  all  still  to  do.  There  stood  the 
window-bars,  untouched,  strong  and  firm  as  ever. 
And  there  was  ten  striking  from  the  clock-tower 
in  the  distance.  He  must  get  to  work. 

He  looked  through  the  spy-hole,  and,  seeing 
that  no  one  was  watching,  took  one  of  the  files 
from  his  breast. 

No,  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  him — 
nothing!  It  was  all  imagination.  The  pain  in 
his  side  was  indigestion,  or  a  chill,  or  some  such 


THE  GADFLY.  301 

thing;  not  much  wonder,  after  three  weeks  of 
this  insufferable  prison  food  and  air.  As  for  the 
aching  and  throbbing  all  over,  it  was  partly  ner- 
vous trouble  and  partly  want  of  exercise.  Yes, 
that  was  it,  no  doubt;  want  of  exercise.  How 
absurd  not  to  have  thought  of  that  before! 

He  would  sit  down  a  little  bit,  though,  and  let 
it  pass  before  he  got  to  work.  It  would  be  sure 
to  go  over  in  a  minute  or  two. 

To  sit  still  was  worse  than  all.  When  he  sat 
still  he  was  at  its  mercy,  and  his  face  grew  gray 
with  fear.  No,  he  must  get  up  and  set  to  work, 
and  shake  it  off.  It  should  depend  upon  his  will 
to  feel  or  not  to  feel;  and  he  would  not  feel,  he 
would  force  it  back. 

He  stood  up  again  and  spoke  to  himself,  aloud 
and  distinctly: 

"  I  am  not  ill;  I  have  no  time  to  be  ill.  I  have 
those  bars  to  file,  and  I  am  not  going  to  be  ill." 

Then  he  began  to  file. 

A  quarter-past  ten — half-past  ten — a  quarter  to 

eleven He  filed  and  filed,  and  every  grating 

scrape  of  the  iron  was  as  though  someone  were  fil- 
ing on  his  body  and  brain.  "  I  wonder  which  will 
be  filed  through  first,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a 
little  laugh;  "I  or  the  bars?"  And  he  set  his 
teeth  and  went  on  filing. 

Half-past  eleven.  Hie  was  still  filing,  though 
the  hand  was  stiff  and  swollen  and  would  hardly 
grasp  the  tool.  No,  he  dared  not  stop  to  rest; 
if  he  once  put  the  horrible  thing  down  he  should 
never  have  the  courage  to  begin  again. 

The  sentinel  moved  outside  the  door,  and  the 
butt  end  of  his  carbine  scratched  against  the  lintel. 
The  Gadfly  stopped  and  looked  round,  the  file  still 
in  his  lifted  hand.  Was  he  discovered? 


302 


THE  GADFLY. 


A  little  round  pellet  had  been  shot  through  the 
spy-hole  and  was  lying  on  the  floor.  He  laid  down 
the  file  and  stooped  to  pick  up  the  round  thing. 
It  was  a  bit  of  rolled  paper. 

It  was  a  long  way  to  go  down  and  down,  with 
the  black  waves  rushing  about  him — how  they 
roared ! 

Ah,  yes!  He  was  only  stooping  down  to  pick 
up  the  paper.  He  was  a  bit  giddy;  many  people 
are  when  they  stoop.  There  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  him — nothing. 

He  picked  it  up,  carried  it  to  the  light,  and  un- 
folded it  steadily. 

"  Come  to-night,  whatever  happens;  the  Cricket 
will  be  transferred  to-morrow  to  another  service. 
This  is  our  only  chance." 

He  destroyed  the  paper  as  he  had  done  the 
former  one,  picked  up  his  file  again,  and  went 
back  to  work,  dogged  and  mute  and  desperate. 

One  o'clock.  He  had  been  working  for  three 
hours  now,  and  six  of  the  eight  bars  were  filed. 
Two  more,  and  then,  to  climb 

He  began  to  recall  the  former  occasions  when 
these  terrible  attacks  had  come  on.  The  last  had 
been  the  one  at  New  Year;  and  he  shuddered  as 
he  remembered  those  five  nights.  But  that  time 
it  had  not  come  on  so  suddenly;  he  had  never 
known  it  so  sudden. 

He  dropped  the  file  and  flung  out  both  hands 
blindly,  praying,  in  his  utter  desperation,  for  the 
first  time  since  he  had  been  an  atheist;  praying 
to  anything — to  nothing — to  everything. 

"Not  to-night!     Oh,  let  me  be  ill  to-morrow! 


THE  GADFLY.  303 

I  will  bear  anything  to-morrow — only  not  to- 
night!" 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  with  both  hands 
up  to  his  temples;  then  he  took  up  the  file  once 
more,  and  once  more  went  back  to  his  work. 

Half-past  one.  He  had  begun  on  the  last  bar. 
His  shirt-sleeve  was  bitten  to  rags;  there  was 
blood  on  his  lips  and  a  red  mist  before  his  eyes, 
and  the  sweat  poured  from  his  forehead  as  he  filed, 
and  filed,  and  filed 

After  sunrise  Montanelli  fell  asleep.  He  was 
utterly  worn  out  with  the  restless  misery  of  the 
night  and  slept  for  a  little  while  quietly;  then  he 
began  to  dream. 

At  first  he  dreamed  vaguely,  confusedly;  broken 
fragments  of  images  and  fancijes  followed  each 
other,  fleeting  and  incoherent,  but  all  filled  with 
the  same  dim  sense  of  struggle  and  pain,  the  same 
shadow  of  indefinable  dread.  Presently  he  began 
to  dream  of  sleeplessness;  the  old,  frightful,  fa- 
miliar dream  that  had  been  a  terror  to  him  for 
years.  And  even  as  he  dreamed  he  recognized 
that  he  had  been  through  it  all  before. 

He  was  wandering  about  in  a  great  empty  place, 
trying  to  find  some  quiet  spot  where  he  could  lie 
down  and  sleep.  Everywhere  there  were  people 
walking  up  and. down;  talking,  laughing,  shouting, 
praying,  ringing  bells,  and  clashing  metal  instru- 
ments together.  Sometimes  he  would  get  away 
to  a  little  distance  from  the  noise,  and  would  lie 
down,  now  on  the  grass,  now  on  a  wooden  bench, 
now  on  some  slab  of  stone.  He  would  shut  his 
eyes  and  cover  them  with  both  hands  to  keep  out 
the  light;  and  would  say  to  himself:  "Now  I 
will  get  to  sleep."  Then  the  crowds  would  come 


304  THE  GADFLY. 

sweeping  up  to  him,  shouting,  yelling,  calling  him 
by  name,  begging  him:  "  Wake  up!  Wake  up, 
quick;  we  want  you!  " 

Again:  he  was  in  a  great  palace,  full  of  gorgeous 
rooms,  with  beds  and  couches  and  low  soft 
lounges.  It  was  night,  and  he  said  to  himself: 
"  Here,  at  last,  I  shall  find  a  quiet  place  to  sleep." 
But  when  he  chose  a  dark  room  and  lay  down, 
someone  came  in  with  a  lamp,  flashing  the  merci- 
less light  into  his  eyes,  and  said:  "  Get  up;  you  are 
wanted." 

He  rose  and  wandered  on,  staggering  and  stum- 
bling like  a  creature  wounded  to  death ;  and  heard 
the  clocks  strike  one,  and  knew  that  half  the  night 
was  gone  already — the  precious  night  that  was  so 
short.  Two,  three,  four,  five — by  six  o'clock  the 
whole  town  would  wake  up  and  there  would  be 
no  more  silence. 

He  went  into  another  room  and  would  have  lain 
down  on  a  bed,  but  someone  started  up  from  the 
pillows,  crying  out:  "This  bed  is  mine!"  and  he 
shrank  away  with  despair  in  his  heart. 

Hour  after  hour  struck,  and  still  he  wandered 
on  and  on,  from  room  to  room,  from  house  to 
house,  from  corridor  to  corridor.  The  horrible 
gray  dawn  was  creeping  near  and  nearer;  the 
clocks  were  striking  five;  the  night  was  gone  and 
he  had  found  no  rest.  Oh,  misery!  Another  day 
— another  day! 

He  was  in  a  long,  subterranean  corridor,  a  low, 
vaulted  passage  that  seemed  to  have  no  end.  It 
was  lighted  with  glaring  lamps  and  chandeliers; 
and  through  its  grated  roof  came  the  sounds  of 
dancing  and  laughter  and  merry  music.  Up  there, 
in  the  world  of  the  live  people  overhead,  there 
was  some  festival,  no  doubt.  Oh,  for  a  place 


THE  GADFLY.  305 

to  hide  and  sleep;  some  little  place,  were  it  even 
a  grave!  And  as  he  spoke  he  stumbled  over  an 
open  grave.  An  open  grave,  smelling  of  death 

and  rottenness Ah,  what  matter,  so  he  could 

but  sleep! 

"  This  grave  is  mine!  "  It  was  Gladys;  and  she 
raised  her  head  and  stared  at  him  over  the  rotting 
shroud.  Then  he  knelt  down  and  stretched  out 
his  arms  to  her. 

"Gladys!  Gladys!  Have  a  little  pity  on  me; 
let  me  creep  into  this  narrow  space  and  sleep.  I 
do  not  ask  you  for  your  love;  I  will  not  touch  you, 
will  not  speak  to  you;  only  let  me  lie  down  beside 
you  and  sleep!  Oh,  love,  it  is  so  long  since  I  have 
slept!  I  cannot  bear  another  day.  The  light 
glares  in  upon  my  soul;  the  noise  is  beating  my 
brain  to  dust.  Gladys,  let  me  come  in  here  and 
sleep!" 

And  he  would  have  drawn  her  shroud  across  his 
eyes.  But  she  shrank  away,  screaming: 

"  It  is  sacrilege;  you  are  a  priest!  " 

On  and  on  he  wandered,  and  came  out  upon  the 
sea-shore,  on  the  barren  rocks  where  the  fierce 
light  struck  down,  and  the  water  moaned  its  low, 
perpetual  wail  of  unrest.  "Ah!"  he  said;  "the 
sea  will  be  more  merciful;  it,  too,  is  wearied  unto 
death  and  cannot  sleep." 

Then  Arthur  rose  up  from  the  deep,  and  cried 
aloud: 

"  This  sea  is  mine!  " 

'Your  Eminence!  Your  Eminence!" 
Montanelli  awoke  with  a  start.     His  servant 
was  knocking  at  the  door.     He  rose  wjechanically 
and  opened  it,  and  the  man  saw  how  wild  and 
scared  he  looked.. 


3o6  THE  GADFLY. 

"  Your  Eminence — are  you  ill?  " 

He  drew  both  hands  across  his  forehead. 

"  No;  I  was  asleep,  and  you  startled  me." 

"  I  am  very  sorry;  I  thought  I  had  heard  you 
moving-  early  this  morning,  and  I  supposed " 

"  Is  it  late  now?  " 

"  It  is  nine  o'clock,  and  the  Governor  has  called. 
He  says  he  has  very  important  business,  and  know- 
ing Your  Eminence  to  be  an  early  riser " 

"  Is  he  downstairs?     I  will  come  presently." 

He  dressed  and  went  downstairs. 

"  I  am  afraid  this  is  an  unceremonious  way  to 
call  upon  Your  Eminence,"  the  Govenior  began. 

"  I  hope  there  is  nothing  the  matter?  " 

"  There  is  very  much  the  matter.  Rivarez  has 
all  but  succeeded  in  escaping." 

"  Well,  so  long  as  he  has  not  quite  succeeded 
there  is  no  harm  done.  How  was  it?  " 

"  He  was  found  in  the  courtyard,  right  against 
the  little  iron  gate.  When  the  patrol  came  in  to 
inspect  the  courtyard  at  three  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing one  of  the  men  stumbled  over  something  on 
the  ground;  and  when  they  brought  the  light  up 
they  found  Rivarez  lying  across  the  path  uncon- 
scious. They  raised  an  alarm  at  once  and  called 
me  up;  and  when  I  went  to  examine  his  cell  I 
found  all  the  window-bars  filed  through  and  a  rope 
made  of  torn  body-linen  hanging  from  one  of 
them.  He  had  let  himself  down  and  climbed  along 
the  wall.  The  iron  gate,  which  leads  into  the  sub- 
terranean tunnels,  was  found  to  be  unlocked. 
That  looks  as  if  the  guards  had  been  suborned." 

"  But  how  did  he  come  to  be  lying  across  the 
path?  Did  he  fall  from  the  rampart  and  hurt 
himself?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  thought  at  first,  Your  Emi- 


THE  GADFLY.  307 

nence;  but  the  prison  surgeon  can't  find  any  trace 
of  a  fall.  The  soldier  who  was  on  duty  yesterday 
says  that  Rivarez  looked  very  ill  last  night  when 
he  brought  in  the  supper,  and  did  not  eat  anything. 
But  that  must  be  nonsense;  a  sick  man  couldn't 
file  those  bars  through  and  climb  along  that  roof. 
It's  not  in  reason." 

"  Does  he  give  any  account  of  himself?  " 

"  He  is  unconscious,  Your  Eminence." 

"Still?" 

"  He  just  half  comes  to  himself  from  time  to- 
time  and  moans,  and  then  goes  off  again." 

"  That  is  very  strange.  What  does  the  doctor 
think?" 

"  He  doesn't  know  what  to  think.  There  is  no 
trace  of  heart-disease  that  he  can  find  to  account 
for  the  thing;  but  whatever  is  the  matter  with 
him,  it  is  something  that  must  have  come  on 
suddenly,  just  when  he  had  nearly  managed  to 
escape.  For  my  part,  I  believe  he  was  struck 
down  by  the  direct  intervention  of  a  merciful 
Providence." 

Montanelli  frowned  slightly. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him? "  he 
asked. 

"  That  is  a  question  I  shall  settle  in  a  very  few 
days.  In  the  meantime  I  have  had  a  good  lesson. 
That  is  what  comes  of  taking  off  the  irons — with 
all  due  respect  to  Your  Eminence." 

"  I  hope,"  Montanelli  interrupted,  "  that  you 
will  at  least  not  replace  the  fetters  while  he  is  ill. 
A  man  in  the  condition  you  describe  can  hardly 
make  any  more  attempts  to  escape." 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  he  doesn't,"  the  Gov- 
ernor muttered  to  himself  as  he  went  out.  "  His 
Eminence  can  go  hang  with  his  sentimental  scru- 


308  THE  GADFLY. 

pies  for  all  I  care.    Rivarez  is  chained  pretty  tight 
now,  and  is  going  to  stop  so,  ill  or  not." 

"  But  how  can  it  have  happened?  To  faint 
aAvay  at  the  last  moment,  when  everything  was 
ready;  when  he  was  at  the  very  gate!  It's  like 
some  hideous  joke." 

"  I  tell  you,"  Martini  answered,  "  the  only  thing 
I  can  think  of  is  that  one  of  these  attacks  must 
have  come  on,  and  that  he  must  have  struggled 
against  it  as  long  as  his  strength  lasted  and  have 
fainted  from  sheer  exhaustion  when  he  got  down 
into  the  courtyard." 

Marcone  knocked  the  ashes  savagely  from  his 
pipe. 

''Well,  anyhow,  that's  the  end  of  it;  we  can't 
do  anything  for  him  now,  poor  fellow." 

"  Poor  fellow!  "  Martini  echoed,  under  his 
breath.  He  was  beginning  to  realize  that  to  him, 
too,  the  world  would  look  empty  and  dismal  with- 
out the  Gadfly. 

"  What  does  she  think?  "  the  smuggler  asked, 
glancing  towards  the  other  end  of  the  room,  where 
Gemma  sat  alone,  her  hands  lying  idly  in  her  lap, 
her  eyes  looking  straight  before  her  into  blank 
nothingness. 

"  I  have  not  asked  her;  she  has  not  spoken  since 
I  brought  her  the  news.  \Ye  had  best  not  dis- 
turb her  just  yet." 

She  did  not  appear  to  be  conscious  of  their  pres- 
ence, but  they  both  spoke  with  lowered  voices,  as 
though  they  were  looking  at  a  corpse.  After  a 
dreary  little  pause,  Marcone  rose  and  put  away  his 
pipe. 

"  I  will  come  back  this  evening,"  he  said;  but 
Martini  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 


THE  GADFLY.  309 

"  Don't  go  yet;  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  He 
dropped  his  voice  still  lower  and  continued  in 
almost  a  whisper: 

"  Do  you  believe  there  is  really  no  hope?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  hope  there  can  be  now.  We 
can't  attempt  it  again.  Even  if  he  were  well 
enough  to  manage  his  part  of  the  thing,  we 
couldn't  do  our  share.  The  sentinels  are  all  being 
changed,  on  suspicion.  The  Cricket  won't  get 
another  chance,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  Martini  asked  suddenly; 
"  that,  when  he  recovers,  something  might  be 
done  by  calling  off  the  sentinels?  " 

"  Calling  off  the  sentinels?  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  Well,  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  were  to 
get  in  the  Governor's  way  when  the  procession 
passes  close  by  the  fortress  on  Corpus  Domini  day 
and  fire  in  his  face,  all  the  sentinels  would  come 
rushing  to  get  hold  of  me,  and  some  of  you  fellows 
could  perhaps  help  Rivarez  out  in  the  confusion. 
It  really  hardly  amounts  to  a  plan;  it  only  came 
into  my  head." 

"  I  doubt  whether  it  could  be  managed,"  Mar- 
cone  answered  with  a  very  grave  face.  "  Cer- 
tainly it  would  want  a  lot  of  thinking  out  for 
anything  to  come  of  it.  But  " — he  stopped  and 
looked  at  Martini — "  if  it  should  be  possible — 
would  you  do  it?  " 

Martini  was  a  reserved  man  at  ordinary  times; 
but  this  was  not  an  ordinary  time.  He  looked 
straight  into  the  smuggler's  face. 

"Would  T  do  it?"  he  repeated.  "Look  at 
her!" 

There  was  no  need  for  further  explanations; 
in  saying  that  he  had  said  all.  Marcone  turned 
and  looked  across  the  room. 


3io  THE  GADFLY. 

She  had  not  moved  since  their  conversation 
began.  There  was  no  doubt,  no  fear,  even  no 
grief  in  her  face;  there  was  nothing  in  it  but  the 
shadow  of  death.  The  smuggler's  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Make  haste,  Michele!  "  he  said,  throwing  open 
the  verandah  door  and  looking  out.  "  Aren't  you 
nearly  done,  you  two?  There  are  a  hundred  and 
fifty  things  to  do!  " 

Michele,  followed  by  Gino,  came  in  from  the 
verandah. 

"  I  am  ready  now,"  he  said.  "  I  only  want  to 
ask  the  signora " 

He  was  moving  towards  her  when  Martini 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Don't  disturb  her;  she's  better  alone." 

"  Let  her  be!  "  Marcone  added.  "  We  shan't 
do  any  good  by  meddling.  God  knows,  it's  hard 
enough  on  all  of  us;  but  it's  worse  for  her,  poor 
soul!" 


CHAPTER    V. 

FOR  a  week  the  Gadfly  lay  in  a  fearful  state. 
The  attack  was  a  violent  one,  and  the  Governor, 
rendered  brutal  by  fear  and  perplexity,  had  not 
only  chained  him  hand  and  foot,  but  had  insisted 
on  his  being  bound  to  his  pallet  with  leather 
straps,  drawn  so  tight  that  he  could  not  move 
without  their  cutting  into  the  flesh.  He  endured 
even-thing  with  his  dogged,  bitter  stoicism  till  the 
end  of  the  sixth  day.  Then  his  pride  broke  down, 
and  he  piteously  entreated  the  prison  doctor  for  a 
dose  of  opium.  The  doctor  was  quite  willing  to 
give  it;  but  the  Governor,  hearing  of  the  request, 
sharply  forbade  "  any  such  foolery." 


THE  GADFLY.  311 

"  How  do  you  know  what  he  wants  it  for?  "  he 
said.  "  It's  just  as  likely  as  not  that  he's  sham- 
ming all  the  time  and  wants  to  drug  the  sentinel, 
or  some  such  devilry.  Rivarez  is  cunning  enough 
for  anything." 

"  My  giving  him  a  dose  would  hardly  help  him 
to  drug  the  sentinel,"  replied  the  doctor,  unable 
to  suppress  a  smile.  "  And  as  for  shamming — 
there's  not  much  fear  of  that.  He  is  as  likely  as 
not  to  die." 

"  Anyway,  I  won't  have  it  given.  If  a  man 
wants  to  be  tenderly  treated,  he  should  behave  ac- 
cordingly. He  has  thoroughly  deserved  a  little 
sharp  discipline.  Perhaps  it  will  be  a  lesson  to 
him  not  to  play  tricks  with  the  window-bars 
again." 

"  The  law  does  not  admit  of  torture,  though," 
the  doctor  ventured  to  say;  "  and  this  is  coming 
perilously  near  it." 

"  The  law  says  nothing  about  opium,  I  think," 
said  the  Governor  snappishly. 

"  It  is  for  you  to  decide,  of  course,  colonel;  but 
I  hope  you  will  let  the  straps  be  taken  off  at 
any  rate.  They  are  a  needless  aggravation  of 
his  misery.  There's  no  fear  of  his  escap- 
ing now.  He  couldn't  stand  if  you  let  him  go 
free." 

"  My  good  sir,  a  doctor  may  make  a  mistake 
like  other  people,  I  suppose.  I  have  got  him  safe 
strapped  now,  and  he's  going  to  stop  so." 

"  At  least,  then,  have  the  straps  a  little  loos- 
ened. It  is  downright  barbarity  to  keep  them 
drawn  so  tight." 

"  They  will  stop  exactly  as  they  are;  and  I  will 
thank  you,  sir,  not  to  talk  about  barbarity  to  me. 
If  I  do  a  thing,  I  have  a  reason  for  it." 


3i2  THE  GADFLY. 

So  the  seventh  night  passed  without  any  relief, 
and  the  soldier  stationed  on  guard  at  the  cell  door 
crossed  himself,  shuddering,  over  and  over  again, 
as  he  listened  all  night  long  to  heart-rending 
moans.  The  Gadfly's  endurance  was  failing  him 
at  last. 

At  six  in  the  morning  the  sentinel,  just  before 
going  off  duty,  unlocked  the  door  softly  and  en- 
tered the  cell.  He  knew  that  he  was  committing 
a  serious  breach  of  discipline,  but  could  not  bear 
to  go  away  without  offering  the  consolation  of 
a  friendly  word. 

He  found  the  Gadfly  lying  still,  with  closed  eyes 
and  parted  lips.  He  stood  silent  for  a  moment; 
then  stooped  down  and  asked: 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir?  I  have  only 
a  minute." 

The  Gadfly  opened  his  eyes.  "  Let  me  alone!  " 
he  moaned.  "  Let  me  .alone — 

He  was  asleep  almost  before  the  soldier  had 
slipped  back  to  his  post. 

Ten  days  afterwards  the  Governor  called  again 
at  the  palace,  but  found  that  the  Cardinal  had 
gone  to  visit  a  sick  man  at  Pieve  d'Ottavo,  and 
was  not  expected  home  till  the  afternoon.  That 
evening,  just  as  he  was  sitting  down  to  dinner,  his 
servant  came  in  to  announce: 

"  His  Eminence  would  like  to  speak  to  you." 

The  Governor,  with  a  hasty  glance  into  the 
looking  glass,  to  make  sure  that  his  uniform  was 
in  order,  put  on  his  most  dignified  air,  and 
went  into  the  reception  room,  where  Montanelli 
was  sitting,  beating  his  hand  gently  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair  and  looking  out  of  the  window  with 
an  anxious  line  between  his  brows. 

"  I  heard  that  you  called  to-day,"  he  said,  cut- 


THE  GADFLY.  313 

ting  short  the  Governor's  polite  speeches  with 
a  slightly  imperious  manner  which  he  never 
adopted  in  speaking  to  the  country  folk.  "  It  was 
probably  on  the  business  about  which  I  have  been 
wishing  to  speak  to  you." 

"  It  was  about  Rivarez,  Your  Eminence." 

"  So  I  supposed.  I  have  been  thinking  the  mat- 
ter over  these  last  few  days.  But  before  we  go 
into  that,  I  should  like  to  hear  whether  you  have 
anything  new  to  tell  me." 

The  Governor  pulled  his  moustaches  with  an 
embarrassed  air. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  came  to  know  whether  Your 
Eminence  had  anything  to  tell  me.  If  you  still 
have  an  objection  to  the  course  I  proposed  tak- 
ing, I  should  be  sincerely  glad  of  your  advice  in 
the  matter;  for,  honestly,  I  don't  know  what 
to  do." 

"  Is  there  any  new  difficulty?" 

"  Only  that  next  Thursday  is  the  3d  of  June, 
— Corpus  Domini, — and  somehow  or  other  the 
matter  must  be  settled  before  then." 

"Thursday  is  Corpus  Domini,  certainly;  but 
why  must  it  be  settled  especially  before  then?  " 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry,  Your  Eminence,  if  I 
seem  to  oppose  you,  but  I  can't  undertake  to  be 
responsible  for  the  peace  of  the  town  if  Rivarez  is 
not  got  rid  of  before  then.  All  the  roughest  set 
in  the  hills  collects  here  for  that  day,  as  Your  Emi- 
nence knows,  and  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
they  may  attempt  to  break  open  the  fortress  gates 
and  take  him  out.  They  won't  succeed;  I'll 
take  care  of  that,  if  I  have  to  sweep  them  from  the 
gates  with  powder  and  shot.  But  we  are  very 
likely  to  have  something  of  that  kind  before  the 
day  is  over.  Here  in  the  Romagna  there  is  bad 


314  THE  GADFLY. 

blood  in  the  people,  and  when  once  they  get  out 
their  knives — 

"  I  think  with  a  little  care  we  can  prevent  mat- 
ters going  as  far  as  knives.  I  have  always  found 
the  people  of  this  district  easy  to  get  on  with,  if 
they  are  reasonably  treated.  Of  course,  if  you 
once  begin  to  threaten  or  coerce  a  Romagnol  he 
becomes  unmanageable.  But  have  you  any  rea- 
son for  supposing  a  new  rescue  scheme  is 
intended?  " 

"  I  heard,  both  this  morning  and  yesterday, 
from  confidential  agents  of  mine,  that  a  great 
many  rumours  are  circulating  all  over  the  district 
and  that  the  people  are  evidently  up  to  some  mis- 
chief or  other.  But  one  can't  find  out  the  details; 
if  one  could  it  would  be  easier  to  take  precau- 
tions. And  for  my  part,  after  the  fright  we  had 
the  other  day,  I  prefer  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
With  such  a  cunning  fox  as  Rivarez  one  can't  be 
too  careful." 

"  The  last  I  heard  about  Rivarez  was  that  he 
was  too  ill  to  move  or  speak.  Is  he  recovering, 
then?" 

"  He  seems  much  better  now.  Your  Eminence. 
He  certainly  has  been  very  ill — unless  he  was 
shamming  all  the  time." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  for  supposing  that 
likely?" 

"  Well,  the  doctor  seems  convinced  that  it  was 
all  genuine;  but  it's  a  very  mysterious  kind  of  ill- 
ness. Any  way,  he  is  recovering,  and  more 
intractable  than  ever." 

"  What  has  he  done  now?  " 

'  There's  not  much  he  can  do,  fortunately," 
the  Governor  answered,  smiling  as  he  remembered 
the  straps.  "  But  his  behaviour  is  something  in- 


THE  GADFLY.  315 

describable.  Yesterday  morning  I  went  into  the 
cell  to  ask  him  a  few  questions;  he  is  not  well 
enough  yet  to  come  to  me  for  interrogation — and 
indeed,  I  thought  it  best  not  to  run  any  risk  of 
the  people  seeing  him  until  he  recovers.  Such 
absurd  stories  always  get  about  at  once." 

"  So  you  went  there  to  interrogate  him?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Eminence.  I  hoped  he  would  be 
more  amenable  to  reason  now." 

Montanelli  looked  him  over  deliberately,  almost 
as  if  he  had  been  inspecting  a  new  and  disagree- 
able animal.  Fortunately,  however,  the  Governor 
was  fingering  his  sword-belt,  and  did  not  see  the 
look.  He  went  on  placidly: 

"  I  have  not  subjected  him  to  any  particular 
severities,  but  I  have  been  obliged  to  be  rather 
strict  with  him — especially  as  it  is  a  military 
prison — and  I  thought  that  perhaps  a  little  indul- 
gence might  have  a  good  effect.  I  offered  to 
relax  the  discipline  considerably  if  he  would  be- 
have in  a  reasonable  manner;  and  how  does  Your 
Eminence  suppose  he  answered  me?  He  lay  look- 
ing at  me  a  minute,  like  a  wolf  in  a  cage,  and  then 
said  quite  softly:  'Colonel,  I  can't  get  up  and 
strangle  you;  but  my  teeth  are  pretty  good;  you 
had  better  take  your  throat  a  little  further  off.' 
He  is  as  savage  as  a  wild-cat." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  it,"  Montanelli 
answered  quietly.  "  But  I  came  to  ask  you  a 
question.  Do  you  honestly  believe  that  the  pres- 
ence of  Rivarez  in  the  prison  here  constitutes  a 
serious  danger  to  the  peace  of  the  district?  " 

"  Most  certainly  I  do,  Your  Eminence." 

'  You  think  that,  to  prevent  the  risk  of  blood- 
shed, it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should 
somehow  be  got  rid  of  before  Corpus  Domini?  " 


3i6  THE  GADFLY. 

"  I  can  only  repeat  that  if  he  is  here  on  Thurs- 
day, I  do  not  expect  the  festival  to  pass  over  with- 
out a  fight,  and  I  think  it  likely  to  be  a  serious 
one." 

"  And  you  think  that  if  he  were  not  here  there 
would  be  no  such  danger?  " 

"  In  that  case,  there  would  either  be  no  disturb- 
ance at  all,  or  at  most  a  little  shouting  and  stone- 
throwing.  If  Your  Eminence  can  find  some  way 
of  getting  rid  of  him,  I  will  undertake  that  the 
peace  shall  be  kept.  Otherwise,  I  expect  most 
serious  trouble.  I  am  convinced  that  a  new  rescue 
plot  is  on  hand,  and  Thursday  is  the  day  when  we 
may  expect  the  attempt.  Now,  if  on  that  very 
morning  they  suddenly  find  that  he  is  not  in  the 
fortress  at  all,  their  plan  fails  of  itself,  and  they 
have  no  occasion  to  begin  fighting.  But  if  we 
have  to  repulse  them,  and  the  daggers  once  get 
drawn  among  such  throngs  of  people,  we  are 
likely  to  have  the  place  burnt  down  before  night- 
fall." 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  send  him  in  to  Ra- 
venna? " 

"  Heaven  knows,  Your  Eminence,  I  should  be 
thankful  to  do  it!  But  how  am  I  to  prevent  the 
people  rescuing  him  on  the  way?  I  have  not  sol- 
diers enough  to  resist  an  armed  attack;  and  all 
these  mountaineers  have  got  knives  or  flint-locks 
or  some  such  thing." 

"  You  still  persist,  then,  in  wishing  for  a  court- 
martial,  and  in  asking  my  consent  to  it?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  Your  Eminence;  I  ask  you  only 
one  thing — to  help  me  prevent  riots  and  blood- 
shed. I  am  quite  willing  to  admit  that  the  mili- 
tary commissions,  such  as  that  of  Colonel  Freddi, 
were  sometimes  unnecessarily  severe,  and  irritated 


THE  GADFLY.  317 

instead  of  subduing-  the  people;  but  I  think  that 
in  this  case  a  court-martial  would  be  a  wise  meas- 
ure and  in  the  long  run  a  merciful  one.  It  would 
prevent  a  riot,  which  in  itself  would  be  a  terrible 
disaster,  and  which  very  likely  might  cause  a  re- 
turn of  the  military  commissions  His  Holiness  has 
abolished." 

The  Governor  finished  his  little  speech  with 
much  solemnity,  and  waited  for  the  Cardinal's 
answer.  It  was  a  long  time  coming;  and  when 
it  came  was  startlingly  unexpected. 

"  Colonel  Ferrari,  do  you  believe  in  God?  " 

"Your  Eminence!"  the  colonel  gasped  in  a 
voice  full  of  exclamation-stops. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  God?  "  Montanelli  repeated, 
rising  and  looking  down  at  him  with  steady, 
searching  eyes.  The  colonel  rose  too. 

"  Your  Eminence,  I  am  a  Christian  man,  and 
have  never  yet  been  refused  absolution." 

Montanelli  lifted  the  cross  from  his  breast. 

"  Then  swear  on  the  cross  of  the  Redeemer  Who 
died  for  you,  that  you  have  been  speaking  the 
truth  to  me." 

The  colonel  stood  still  and  gazed  at  it  blankly. 
He  could  not  quite  make  up  his  mind  which  was 
mad,  he  or  the  Cardinal. 

"  You  have  asked  me,"  Montanelli  went  on, 
"  to  give  my  consent  to  a  man's  death.  Kiss  the 
cross,  if  you  dare,  and  tell  me  that  you  believe 
there  is  no  other  way  to  prevent  greater  blood- 
shed. And  remember  that  if  you  tell  me  a  lie  you 
are  imperilling  your  immortal  soul." 

After  a  little  pause,  the  Governor  bent  down 
and  put  the  cross  to  his  lips. 

"  I  believe  it,"  he  said. 

Montanelli  turned  slowly  away. 


3i8  THE  GADFLY. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  definite  answer  to-morrow. 
But  first  I  must  see  Rivarez  and  speak  to  him 
alone." 

"  Your  Eminence — if  I  might  suggest — I  am 
sure  you  will  regret  it.  For  that  matter,  he  sent 
me  a  message  yesterday,  by  the  guard,  asking  to 
see  Your  Eminence;  but  I  took  no  notice  of  it, 
because " 

"Took  no  notice!"  Montanelli  repeated.  "A 
man  in  such  circumstances  sent  you  a  message, 
and  you  took  no  notice  of  it?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  if  Your  Eminence  is  displeased.  I 
did  not  wish  to  trouble  you  over  a  mere  imperti- 
nence like  that;  I  know  Rivarez  well  enough  by 
now  to  feel  sure  that  he  only  wanted  to  insult 
you.  And,  indeed,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so, 
it  would  be  most  imprudent  to  go  near  him  alone; 
he  is  really  dangerous — so  much  so,  in  fact,  that 
I  have  thought  it  necessary  to  use  some  physical 
restraint  of  a  mild  kind— 

"  And  you  really  think  there  is  much  danger  to 
be  apprehended  from  one  sick  and  unarmed  man, 
who  is  under  physical  restraint  of  a  mild  kind?" 
Montanelli  spoke  quite  gently,  but  the  colonel  felt 
the  sting  of  his  quiet  contempt,  and  flushed  under 
it  resentfully. 

'  Your  Eminence  will  do  as  you  think  best,"  he 
said  in  his  stiffest  manner.  "  I  only  wished  to 
spare  you  the  pain  of  hearing  this  man's  awful 
blasphemies." 

"  Which  do  you  think  the  more  grievous  misfor- 
tune for  a  Christian  man;  to  hear  a  blasphemous 
word  uttered,  or  to  abandon  a  fellow-creature  in 
extremity?  " 

The  Governor  stood  erect  and  stiff,  with  his  offi- 
cial face,  like  a  face  of  wood.  He  was  deeply 


THE  GADFLY.  319 

offended  at  Montanelli's  treatment  of  him,  and 
showed  it  by  unusual  ceremoniousness. 

"  At  what  time  does  Your  Eminence  wish  to 
visit  the  prisoner?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  will  go  to  him  at  once." 

"  As  Your  Eminence  pleases.  If  you  will  kindly 
wait  a  few  moments,  I  will  send  someone  to  pre- 
pare him." 

The  Governor  had  come  down  from  his  official 
pedestal  in  a  great  hurry.  He  did  not  want  Mon- 
tanelli  to  see  the  straps. 

"  Thank  you;  I  would  rather  see  him  as  he  is, 
without  preparation.  I  will  go  straight  up  to  the 
fortress.  Good-evening,  colonel;  you  may  expect 
my  answer  to-morrow  morning." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HEARING,  the  cell-door  unlocked,  the  Gadfly 
turned  away  his  eyes  with  languid  indifference. 
He  supposed  that  it  was  only  the  Governor,  com- 
ing to  worry  him  with  another  interrogation. 
Several  soldiers  mounted  the  narrow  stair,  their 
carbines  clanking  against  the  wall ;  then  a  deferen- 
tial voice  said:  "  It  is  rather  steep  here,  Your 
Eminence." 

He  started  convulsively,  and  then  shrank  down, 
catching  his  breath  under  the  stinging  pressure  of 
the  straps. 

Montanelli  came  in  with  the  sergeant  and  three 
guards. 

"  If  Your  Eminence  will  kindly  wait  a  moment," 
the  sergeant  began  nervously,  "  one  of  my  men 
will  bring  a  chair.  He  has  just  gone  to  fetch  it. 


320  THE  GADFLY. 

Your  Eminence  will  excuse  us — if  we  had  been  ex- 
pecting you,  we  should  have  been  prepared." 

"  There  is  no  need  for  any  preparation.  Will 
you  kindly  leave  us  alone,  sergeant;  and  wait  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  with  your  men?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Eminence.  Here  is  the  chair;  shall 
I  put  it  beside  him?  " 

The  Gadfly  was  lying  with  closed  eyes;  but  he 
felt  that  Montanelli  was  looking  at  him. 

"  I  think  he  is  asleep,  Your  Eminence,"  the  ser- 
geant was  beginning,  but  the  Gadfly  opened  his 
eyes. 

"  No,"  he  said. 

As  the  soldiers  were  leaving  the  cell  they  were 
stopped  by  a  sudden  exclamation  from  Monta- 
nelli; and,  turning  back,  saw  that  he  was  bending 
down  to  examine  the  straps. 

"  Who  has  been  doing  this?"  he  asked.  The 
sergeant  fumbled  with  his  cap. 

"  It  was  by  the  Governor's  express  orders,  Your 
Eminence." 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  this,  Signer  Rivarez,"  Mon- 
tanelli said  in  a  voice  of  great  distress. 

"  I  told  Your  Eminence,"  the  Gadfly  answered, 
with  his  hard  smile,  "  that  I  n-n-never  expected  to 
be  patted  on  the  head." 

"  Sergeant,  how  long  has  this  been  going  on?  " 

"  Since  he  tried  to  escape,  Your  Eminence." 

"  That  is,  nearly  a  week?  Bring  a  knife  and  cut 
these  off  at  once." 

"  May  it  please  Your  Eminence,  the  doctor 
wanted  to  take  them  off,  but  Colonel  Ferrari 
wouldn't  allow  it." 

"  Bring  a  knife  at  once."  Montanelli  had  not 
raised  his  voice,  but  the  soldiers  could  see  that  he 
was  white  with  anger.  The  sergeant  took  a  clasp- 


THE  GADFLY.  321 

knife  from  his  pocket,  and  bent  down  to  cut  the 
arm-strap.  He  was  not  a  skilful-fingered  man; 
and  he  jerked  the  strap  tighter  with  an  awkward 
movement,  so  that  the  Gadfly  winced  and  bit  his 
lip  in  spite  of  all  his  self-control.  Montanelli  came 
forward  at  once. 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  do  it;  give  me  the 
knife." 

"  Ah-h-h!  "  The  Gadfly  stretched  out  his  arms 
with  a  long,  rapturous  sigh  as  the  strap  fell  off. 
The  next  instant  Montanelli  had  cut  the  other 
one,  which  bound  his  ankles. 

'Take  off  the  irons,  too,  sergeant;  and  then 
come  here.  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

He  stood  by  the  window,  looking  on,  till  the 
sergeant  threw  down  the  fetters  and  approached 
him. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  tell  me  everything  that  has 
been  happening." 

The  sergeant,  nothing  loath,  related  all  that  he 
knew  of  the  Gadfly's  illness,  of  the  "  disciplinary 
measures,"  and  of  the  doctor's  unsuccessful  at- 
tempt to  interfere. 

"  But  I  think,  Your  Eminence,"  he  added, 
"  that  the  colonel  wanted  the  straps  kept  on  as  a 
means  of  getting  evidence." 

"  Evidence?  " 

'  Yes,  Your  Eminence;  the  day  before  yester- 
day I  heard  him  offer  to  have  them  taken  off  if 
he  " — with  a  glance  at  the  Gadfly — "  would  an- 
swer a  question  he  had  asked." 

Montanelli  clenched  his  hand  on  the  window- 
sill,  and  the  soldiers  glanced  at  one  another;  they 
had  never  seen  the  gentle  Cardinal  angry  before. 
As  for  the  Gadfly,  he  had  forgotten  their  exist- 
ence; he  had  forgotten  everything  except  the 


322  THE  GADFLY. 

physical  sensation  of  freedom.  He  was  cramped 
in  every  limb;  and  now  stretched,  and  turned,  and 
twisted  about  in  a  positive  ecstasy  of  relief. 

"  You  can  go  now,  sergeant,"  the  Cardinal  said. 
"  You  need  not  feel  anxious  about  having  com- 
mitted a  breach  of  discipline;  it  was  your  duty  to 
tell  me  when  I  asked  you.  See  that  no  one  dis- 
turbs us.  I  will  come  out  when  I  am  ready." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  soldiers, 
he  leaned  on  the  window-sill  and  looked  for  a  while 
at  the  sinking  sun,  so  as  to  leave  the  Gadfly  a  little 
more  breathing  time. 

"  I  have  heard,"  he  said  presently,  leaving  the 
window,  and  sitting  down  beside  the  pallet,  "  that 
you  wish  to  speak  to  me  alone.  If  you  feel  well 
enough  to  tell  me  what  you  wanted  to  say,  I  am 
at  your  service." 

He  spoke  very  coldly,  with  a  stiff,  imperious 
manner  that  was  not  natural  to  him.  Until  the 
straps  were  off,  the  Gadfly  was  to  him  simply  a 
grievously  wronged  and  tortured  human  being; 
but  now  he  recalled  their  last  interview,  and  the 
deadly  insult  with  which  it  had  closed.  The  Gad- 
fly looked  up,  resting  his  head  lazily  on  one  arm. 
He  possessed  the  gift  of  slipping  into  graceful  atti- 
tudes; and  when  his  face  was  in  shadow  no  one 
would  have  guessed  through  what  deep  waters  he 
had  been  passing.  But,  as  he  looked  up,  the  clear 
evening  light  showed  how  haggard  and  colourless 
he  was,  and  how  plainly  the  trace  of  the  last  few 
days  was  stamped  on  him.  Montanelli's  anger 
died  away. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  terribly  ill,"  he  said. 
"  I  am  sincerely  sorry  that  I  did  not  know  of  all 
this.  I  would  have  put  a  stop  to  it  before." 

The  Gadfly  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "  All's  fair 


THE  GADFLY.  323 

in  war,"  he  said  coolly.  "  Your  Eminence  objects 
to  straps  theoretically,  from  the  Christian  stand- 
point; but  it  is  hardly  fair  to  expect  the  colonel 
to  see  that.  He,  no  doubt,  would  prefer  not  to 
try  them  on  his  own  skin — which  is  j-j-just  my 
case.  But  that  is  a  matter  of  p-p-personal  con- 
venience. At  this  moment  I  am  undermost — 
w-w-what  would  you  have?  It  is  very  kind  of 
Your  Eminence,  though,  to  call  here;  but  per- 
haps that  was  done  from  the  C-c-christian  stand- 
point, too.  Visiting  prisoners — ah,  yes!  I  forgot. 
'  Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  one  of  the  1-least  of 
these  ' — it's  not  very  complimentary,  but  one  of 
the  least  is  duly  grateful/' 

"  Signor  Rivarez,"  the  Cardinal  interrupted,  "  I 
have  come  here  on  your  account — not  on  my  own. 
If  you  had  not  been  '  undermost/  as  you  call  it,  I 
should  never  have  spoken  to  you  again  after  what 
you  said  to  me  last  week;  but  you  have  the  double 
privilege  of  a  prisoner  and  a  sick  man,  and  I  could 
not  refuse  to  come.  Have  you  anything  to  say 
to  me,  now  I  am  here;  or  have  you  sent  for  me 
merely  to  amuse  yourself  by  insulting  an  old 
man?" 

There  was  no  answer.  The  Gadfly  had  turned 
away,  and  was  lying  with  one  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  I  am — very  sorry  to  trouble  you,"  he  said  at 
last,  huskily;  "  but  could  I  have  a  little  water?  " 

There  was  a  jug  of  water  standing  by  the  win- 
dow, and  Montanelli  rose  and  fetched  it.  As  he 
slipped  his  arm  round  the  Gadfly  to  lift  him,  he 
suddenly  felt  the  damp,  cold  fingers  close  over 
his  wrist  like  a  vice. 

"  Give  me  your  hand — quick — just  a  moment," 
the  Gadfly  whispered.  "  Oh,  what  difference  does 
it  make  to  you?  Only  one  minute!  " 


324  THE  GADFLY. 

He  sank  down,  hiding  his  face  on  Montanelli's 
arm,  and  quivering  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Drink  a  little  water,"  Montanelli  said  after  a 
moment.  The  Gadfly  obeyed  silently;  then  lay 
back  on  the  pallet  with  closed  eyes.  He  himself 
could  have  given  no  explanation  of  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  when  Montanelli's  hand  had  touched 
his  cheek;  he  only  knew  that  in  all  his  life  there 
had  been  nothing  more  terrible. 

Montanelli  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  pallet 
and  sat  down.  The  Gadfly  was  lying  quite  mo- 
tionless, like  a  corpse,  and  his  face  was  livid  and 
drawn.  After  a  long  silence,  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  fixed  their  haunting,  spectral  gaze  on  the  Car- 
dinal. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  I — am  sorry.  I  think 
— you  asked  me  something?  " 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  talk.  If  there  is  anything 
you  want  to  say  to  me,  I  will  try  to  come  again 
to-morrow." 

"  Please  don't  go,  Your  Eminence — indeed, 
there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me.  I — I  have 
been  a  little  upset  these  few  days;  it  was  half  of 
it  malingering,  though — the  colonel  will  tell  you 
so  if  you  ask  him." 

"  I  prefer  to  form  my  own  conclusions,"  Mon- 
tanelli answered  quietly. 

"  S-so  does  the  colonel.  And  occasionally,  do 
you  know,  they  are  rather  witty.  You  w-w- 
wouldn't  think  it  to  look  at  him;  but  s-s-some- 
times  he  gets  hold  of  an  or-r-riginal  idea.  On 
Friday  night,  for  instance — I  think  it  was  Friday, 
but  I  got  a  1-little  mixed  as  to  time  towards  the 
end — anyhow,  I  asked  for  a  d-dose  of  opium — I 
remember  that  quite  distinctly;  and  he  came  in 
here  and  said  I  m-might  h-h-have  it  if  I  would 


THE  GADFLY.  325 

tell  him  who  un-1-l-locked  the  gate.  I  remember 
his  saying:  '  If  it's  real,  you'll  consent;  if  you 
don't,  I  shall  look  upon  it  as  a  p-proof  that  you  are 
shamming.'  It  n-n-never  oc-c-curred  to  me  be- 
fore how  comic  that  is;  it's  one  of  the  f-f-funniest 
things " 

He  burst  into  a  sudden  fit  of  harsh,  discordant 
laughter;  then,  turning  sharply  on  the  silent  Car- 
dinal, went  on,  more  and  more  hurriedly,  and 
stammering  so  that  the  words  were  hardly  in- 
telligible: 

"You  d-d-don't  see  that  it's  f-f-funny?  Of 
c-course  not ;  you  r-religious  people  n-n-never  have 
any  s-sense  of  humour — you  t-take  everything 
t-t-tragically.  F-for  instance,  that  night  in  the 
Cath-thedral — how  solemn  you  were!  By  the  way 
— w-what  a  path-thetic  figure  I  must  have  c-cut 
as  the  pilgrim!  I  d-don't  believe  you  e-even  see 
anything  c-c-comic  in  the  b-business  you  have 
c-come  about  this  evening." 

Montanelli  rose. 

"  I  came  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say;  but  I 
think  you  are  too  much  excited  to  say  it  to-night. 
The  doctor  had  better  give  you  a  sedative,  and  we 
will  talk  to-morrow,  when  you  have  had  a  night's 
sleep." 

"  S-sleep?  Oh,  I  shall  s-sleep  well  enough,  Your 
Eminence,  when  you  g-give  your  c-consent  to  the 
colonel's  plan — an  ounce  of  1-lead  is  a  s-splendid 
sedative." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  Montanelli  said, 
turning  to  him  with  a  startled  look. 

The  Gadfly  burst  out  laughing  again. 

'  Your  Eminence,  Your  Eminence,  t-t-truth 
is  the  c-chief  of  the  Christian  virtues!  D-d-do 
you  th-th-think  I  d-d-don't  know  how  hard  the 


326  THE  GADFLY. 

Governor  has  been  trying  to  g-get  your  consent  to 
a  court-martial?  You  had  b-better  by  half  g-give 
it.  Your  Eminence;  it's  only  w-what  all  your 
b-brother  prelates  would  do  in  your  place.  '  Cosi 
fan  tutti;'  and  then  you  would  be  doing  s-such  a 
lot  of  good,  and  so  1-little  harm!  Really,  it's  n-not 
worth  all  the  sleepless  nights  you  have  been  spend- 
ing over  it!  " 

"  Please  stop  laughing  a  minute,"  Montanelli 
interrupted,  "  and  tell  me  how  you  heard  all  this. 
Who  has  been  talking  to  you  about  it?  " 

"  H-hasn't  the  colonel  e-e-ever  told  you  I  am 
a  d-d-devil — not  a  man?  No?  He  has  t-told  me 
so  often  enough!  Well,  I  am  devil  enough  to 
f-find  out  a  little  bit  what  p-people  are  thinking 
about.  Your  E-eminence  is  thinking  that  I'm  a 
conf-founded  nuisance,  and  you  wish  s-somebody 
else  had  to  settle  what's  to  be  done  with  me,  with- 
out disturbing  your  s-sensitive  conscience.  That's 
a  p-pretty  fair  guess,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Listen  to  me,"  the  Cardinal  said,  sitting  down 
again  beside  him,  with  a  very  grave  face.  "  How- 
ever you  found  out  all  this,  it  is  quite  true. 
Colonel  Ferrari  fears  another  rescue  attempt  on 
the  part  of  your  friends,  and  wishes  to  forestall  it 
in — the  way  you  speak  of.  You  see,  I  am  quite 
frank  with  you." 

"  Your  E-eminence  was  always  f-f-famous  for 
truthfulness,"  the  Gadfly  put  in  bitterly. 

'  You  know,  of  course,"  Montanelli  went  on, 
"  that  legally  I  have  no  jurisdiction  in  temporal 
matters:  I  am  a  bishop,  not  a  legate.  But  I  have 
a  good  deal  of  influence  in  this  district;  and  the 
colonel  will  not,  I  think,  venture  to  take  so  ex- 
treme a  course  unless  he  can  get,  at  least,  my  tacit 
consent  to  it.  Up  till  now  I  have  uncondition- 


THE  GADFLY.  327 

ally  opposed  the  scheme;  and  he  has  been  trying 
very  hard  to  conquer  my  objection  by  assuring  me 
that  there  is  great  danger  of  an  armed  attempt 
on  Thursday  when  the  crowd  collects  for  the  pro- 
cession— an  attempt  which  probably  would  end 
in  bloodshed.  Do  you  follow  me?  " 

The  Gadfly  was  staring  absently  out  of  the 
window.  He  looked  round  and  answered  in  a 
weary  voice: 

'  Yes,  I  am  listening." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  really  not  well  enough  to 
stand  this  conversation  to-night.  Shall  I  come 
back  in  the  morning?  It  is  a  very  serious  matter, 
and  I  want  your  whole  attention." 

"  I  would  rather  get  it  over  now,"  the  Gadfly 
answered  in  the  same  tone.  "  I  follow  everything 
you  say." 

"  Now,  if  it  be  true,"  Montanelli  went  on,  "  that 
there  is  any  real  danger  of  riots  and  bloodshed  on 
account  of  you,  I  am  taking  upon  myself  a  tre- 
mendous responsibility  in  opposing  the  colonel; 
and  I  believe  there  is  at  least  some  truth  in  what 
he  says.  On  the  other  hand,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  his  judgment  is  warped,  to  a  certain 
extent,  by  his  personal  animosity  against  you,  and 
that  he  probably  exaggerates  the  danger.  That 
seems  to  me  the  more  likely  since  I  have  seen  this 
shameful  brutality."  He  glanced  at  the  straps  and 
chains  lying  on  the  floor,  and  went  on: 

"  If  I  consent,  I  kill  you;  if  I  refuse,  I  run  the 
risk  of  killing  innocent  persons.  I  have  consid- 
ered the  matter  earnestly,  and  have  sought  with 
all  my  heart  for  a  way  out  of  this  dreadful  alterna- 
tive. And  now  at  last  I  have  made  up  my  mind." 
'  To  kill  me  and  s-save  the  innocent  persons, 
of  course — the  only  decision  a  Christian  man 


328  THE   GADFLY. 

could  possibly  come  to.  '  If  thy  r-right  hand 
offend  thee,'  etc.  I  have  n-not  the  honour  to  be 
the  right  hand  of  Your  Eminence,  and  I  have 
offended  you;  the  c-c-conclusion  is  plain.  Couldn't 
you  tell  me  that  without  so  much  preamble?  " 

The  Gadfly  spoke  with  languid  indifference  and 
contempt,  like  a  man  weary  of  the  whole  subject. 

"  Well?  "  he  added  after  a  little  pause.  "  Was 
that  the  decision,  Your  Eminence?  " 

"  No." 

The  Gadfly  shifted  his  position,  putting  both 
hands  behind  his  head,  and  looked  at  Montanelli 
with  half-shut  eyes.  The  Cardinal,  with  his  head 
sunk  down  as  in  deep  thought,  was  softly  beating 
one  hand  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Ah,  that  old, 
familiar  gesture! 

"  I  have  decided,"  he  said,  raising  his  head  at 
last,  "  to  do,  I  suppose,  an  utterly  unprecedented 
thing.  When  I  heard  that  you  had  asked  to  see 
me,  I  resolved  to  come  here  and  tell  you  every- 
thing, as  I  have  done,  and  to  place  the  matter  in 
your  own  hands." 

"  In— my  hands?  " 

"  Signer  Rivarez,  I  have  not  come  to  you  as 
cardinal,  or  as  bishop,  or  as  judge;  I  have  come 
to  you  as  one  man  to  another.  I  do  not  ask  you 
to  tell  me  whether  you  know  of  any  such  scheme 
as  the  colonel  apprehends.  I  understand  quite 
well  that,  if  you  do,  it  is  your  secret  and  you  will 
not  tell  it.  But  I  do  ask  you  to  put  yourself  in 
my  place.  I  am  old,  and,  no  doubt,  have  not  much 
longer  to  live.  I  would  go  down  to  my  grave 
without  blood  on  my  hands." 

"  Is  there  none  on  them  as  yet,  Your  Emi- 
nence? " 

Montanelli  grew  a  shade  paler,  but  went  on 
quietly: 


THE  GADFLY.  329 

"  All  my  life  I  have  opposed  repressive  meas- 
ures and  cruelty  wherever  I  have  met  with  them. 
I  have  always  disapproved  of  capital  punishment 
in  all  its  forms;  I  have  protested  earnestly  and 
repeatedly  against  the  military  commissions  in  the 
last  reign,  and  have  been  out  of  favour  on  account 
of  doing  so.  Up  till  now  such  influence  and  power 
as  I  have  possessed  have  always  been  employed  on 
the  side  of  mercy.  I  ask  you  to  believe  me,  at 
least,  that  I  am  speaking  the  truth.  Now,  I  am 
placed  in  this  dilemma.  By  refusing,  I  am  expos- 
ing the  town  to  the  danger  of  riots  and  all  their 
consequences;  and  this  to  save  the  life  of  a  man 
who  blasphemes  against  my  religion,  who  has 
slandered  and  wronged  and  insulted  me  person- 
ally (though  that  is  comparatively  a  trifle),  and 
who,  as  I  firmly  believe,  will  put  that  life  to  a  bad 
use  when  it  is  given  to  him.  But — it  is  to  save  a 
man's  life." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  went  on  again: 

"  Signer  Rivarez,  everything  that  I  know  of 
your  career  seems  to  me  bad  and  mischievous;  and 
I  have  long  believed  you  to  be  reckless  and  violent 
and  unscrupulous.  To  some  extent  I  hold  that 
opinion  of  you  still.  But  during  this  last  fort- 
night you  have  shown  me  that  you  are  a  brave 
man  and  that  you  can  be  faithful  to  your  friends. 
You  have  made  the  soldiers  love  and  admire  you, 
too;  and  not  every  man  could  have  done  that.  I 
think  that  perhaps  I  have  misjudged  you,  and  that 
there  is  in  you  something  better  than  what  you 
show  outside.  To  that  better  self  in  you  I  appeal, 
and  solemnly  entreat  you,  on  your  conscience,  to 
tell  me  truthfully — in  my  place,  what  would  you 
do?" 

A  long  silence  followed;  then  the  Gadfly  looked 
up. 


330  THE  GADFLY. 

"  At  least,  I  would  decide  my  own  actions  for 
myself,  and  take  the  consequences  of  them.  I 
would  not  come  sneaking  to  other  people,  in  the 
cowardly  Christian  way,  asking  them  to  solve  my 
problems  for  me!  " 

The  onslaught  was  so  sudden,  and  its  extraor- 
dinary vehemence  and  passion  were  in  such  start- 
ling contrast  to  the  languid  affectation  of  a 
moment  before,  that  it  was  as  though  he  had 
thrown  off  a  mask. 

"  We  atheists,"  he  went  on  fiercely,  "  under- 
stand that  if  a  man  has  a  thing  to  bear,  he  must 
bear  it  as  best  he  can;  and  if  he  sinks  under  it — 
why,  so  much  the  worse  for  him.  But  a  Christian 
comes  whining  to  his  God,  or  his  saints;  or,  if  they 
won't  help  him,  to  his  enemies — he  can  always 
find  a  back  to  shift  his  burdens  on  to.  Isn't  there 
a  rule  to  go  by  in  your  Bible,  or  your  Missal,  or 
any  of  your  canting  theology  books,  that  you 
must  come  to  me  to  tell  you  what  to  do? 
Heavens  and  earth,  man!  Haven't  I  enough  as 
it  is,  without  your  laying  your  responsibilities  on 
my  shoulders?  Go  back  to  your  Jesus;  he  ex- 
acted the  uttermost  farthing,  and  you'd  better  do 
the  same.  After  all,  you'll  only  be  killing  an 
atheist — a  man  who  boggles  over  'shibboleth';  and 
that's  no  great  crime,  surely!  " 

He  broke  off,  panting  for  breath,  and  then 
burst  out  again: 

"And  yon  to  talk  of  cruelty!  Why,  that  p-p-pud- 
ding-headed  ass  couldn't  hurt  me  as  much  as  you 
do  if  he  tried  for  a  year;  he  hasn't  got  the  brains. 
All  he  can  think  of  is  to  pull  a  strap  tight,  and 
when  he  can't  get  it  any  tighter  he's  at  the  end 
of  his  resources.  Any  fool  can  do  that!  But 
you —  '  Sign  your  own  death  sentence,  please; 


THE  GADFLY.  331 

I'm  too  tender-hearted  to  do  it  myself.'  Oh!  it 
would  take  a  Christian  to  hit  on  that — a  gentle, 
compassionate  Christian,  that  turns  pale  at  the 
sight  of  a  strap  pulled  too  tight!  I  might  have 
known  when  you  came  in,  like  an  angel  of  mercy — 
so  shocked  at  the  colonel's  '  barbarity  ' — that  the 
real  thing  was  going  to  begin!  Why  do  you  look 
at  me  that  way?  Consent,  man,  of  course,  and 
go  home  to  your  dinner;  the  thing's  not  worth  all 
this  fuss.  Tell  your  colonel  he  can  have  me  shot, 
or  hanged,  or  whatever  comes  handiest — roasted 
alive,  if  it's  any  amusement  to  him — and  be  done 
with  it!" 

The  Gadfly  was  hardly  recognizable;  he  was 
beside  himself  with  rage  and  desperation,  panting 
and  quivering,  his  eyes  glittering  with  green  re- 
flections like  the  eyes  of  an  angry  cat. 

Montanelli  had  risen,  and  was  looking  down  at 
him  silently.  He  did  not  understand  the  drift  of 
the  frenzied  reproaches,  but  he  understood  out  of 
what  extremity  they  were  uttered;  and,  under- 
standing that,  forgave  all  past  insults. 

"  Hush!  "  he  said.  "  I  did  not  want  to  hurt  you 
so.  Indeed,  I  never  meant  to  shift  my  burden 
on  to  you,  who  have  too  much  already.  I  have 
never  consciously  done  that  to  any  living  crea- 
ture- 

"  It's  a  lie! ''  the  Gadfly  cried  out  with  blazing 
eyes.  "  And  the  bishopric?  " 

'The— bishopric?" 

"Ah!  you've  forgotten  that?  It's  so  easy  to 
forget !  '  If  you  wish  it,  Arthur,  I  will  say  I  can- 
not go.*  I  was  to  decide  your  life  for  you — I,  at 
nineteen!  If  it  weren't  so  hideous,  it  would  be 
funny." 

"  Stop!  "    Montanelli  put  up  both  hands  to  his 


332  THE  GADFLY. 

head  with  a  desperate  cry.  He  let  them  fall  again, 
and  walked  slowly  away  to  the  window.  There  he 
sat  down  on  the  sill,  resting  one  arm  on  the  bars, 
and  pressing  his  forehead  against  it.  The  Gadfly 
lay  and  watched  him,  trembling. 

Presently  Montanelli  rose  and  came  back,  with 
lips  as  pale  as  ashes. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  struggling  piteously 
to  keep  up  his  usual  quiet  manner,  "  but  I  must 
go  home.  I — am  not  quite  well." 

He  was  shivering  as  if  with  ague.  All  the  Gad- 
fly's fury  broke  down. 

"  Padre,  can't  you  see -" 

Montanelli  shrank  away,  and  stood  still. 

"  Only  not  that!  "  he  whispered  at  last.  "  My 
God,  anything  but  that!  If  I  am  going  mad— 

The  Gadfly  raised  himself  on  one  arm,  and  took 
the  shaking  hands  in  his. 

"  Padre,  will  you  never  understand  that  I  am 
not  really  drowned?  " 

The  hands  grew  suddenly  cold  and  stiff.  For  a 
moment  everything  was  dead  with  silence,  and 
then  Montanelli  knelt  down  and  hid  his  face  on 
the  Gadfly's  breast. 

When  he  raised  his  head  the  sun  had  set,  and 
the  red  glow  was  dying  in  the  west.  They  had 
forgotten  time  and  place,  and  life  and  death;  they 
had  forgotten,  even,  that  they  were  enemies. 

"  Arthur,"  Montanelli  whispered,  "  are  you 
real?  Have  you  come  back  to  me  from  the 
dead?" 

"  From  the  dead the  Gadfly  repeated, 

shivering.  He  was  lying  with  his  head  on  Monta- 
nelli's  arm,  as  a  sick  child  might  lie  in  its  mother's 
embrace. 


THE  GADFLY.  333 

"  You  have  come  back — you  have  come  back 
at  last!" 

The  Gadfly  sighed  heavily.  "Yes,"  he  said; 
"  and  you  have  to  fight  me,  or  to  kill  me." 

"  Oh,  hush,  carino!  What  is  all  that  now?  We 
have  been  like  two  children  lost  in  the  dark,  mis- 
taking one  another  for  phantoms.  Now  we  have 
found  each  other,  and  have  come  out  into  the 
light.  My  poor  boy,  how  changed  you  are — how 
changed  you  are!  You  look  as  if  all  the  ocean  of 
the  world's  misery  had  passed  over  your  head — 
you  that  used  to  be  so  full  of  the  joy  of  life!  Ar- 
thur, is  it  really  you?  I  have  dreamed  so  often 
that  you  had  come  back  to  me;  and  then  have 
waked  and  seen  the  outer  darkness  staring  in 
upon  an  empty  place.  How  can  I  know  I  shall 
not  wake  again  and  find  it  all  a  dream?  Give 
me  something  tangible — tell  me  how  it  all  hap- 
pened." 

"  It  happened  simply  enough.  I  hid  on  a  goods 
vessel,  as  stowaway,  and  got  out  to  South 
America." 

"  And  there?  " 

"  There  I — lived,  if  you  like  to  call  it  so,  till — 
oh,  I  have  seen  something  else  besides  theologi- 
cal seminaries  since  you  used  to  teach  me  philoso- 
phy! You  say  you  have  dreamed  of  me — yes,  and 
much!  You  say  you  have  dreamed  of  me — yes, 
and  I  of  you " 

He  broke  off,  shuddering. 

"  Once,"  he  began  again  abruptly,  "  I  was  work- 
ing at  a  mine  in  Ecuador " 

"  Not  as  a  miner?  " 

"  No,  as  a  miner's  fag — odd-jobbing  with  the 
coolies.  We  had  a  barrack  to  sleep  in  at  the  pit's 
mouth;  and  one  night — I  had  been  ill,  the  same 


334  THE  GADFLY. 

as  lately,  and  carrying  stones  in  the  blazing 
sun — I  must  have  got  light-headed,  for  I  saw  you 
come  in  at  the  door-way.  You  were  holding  a 
crucifix  like  that  one  on  the  wall.  You  were  pray- 
ing, and  brushed  past  me  without  turning.  I 
cried  out  to  you  to  help  me — to  give  me  poison  or 
a  knife — something  to  put  an  end  to  it  all  before  I 
went  mad.  And  you — ah —  — !  " 

He  drew  one  hand  across  his  eyes.  Montanelli 
was  still  clasping  the  other. 

"  I  saw  in  your  face  that  you  had  heard,  but  you 
never  looked  round;  you  went  on  with  your  pray- 
ers. When  you  had  finished,  and  kissed  the  cru- 
cifix, you  glanced  round  and  whispered:  '  I  am 
very  sorry  for  you,  Arthur;  but  I  daren't  show  it; 
He  would  be  angry.'  And  I  looked  at  Him,  and 
the  wooden  image  was  laughing. 

"  Then,  when  I  came  to  my  senses,  and  saw  the 
barrack  and  the  coolies  with  their  leprosy,  I  under- 
stood. I  saw  that  you  care  more  to  curry  favour 
with  that  devilish  God  of  yours  than  to  save  me 
from  any  hell.  And  I  have  remembered  that.  I 
forgot  just  now  when  you  touched  me;  I — have 
been  ill,  and  I  used  to  love  you  once.  But  there 
can  be  nothing  between  us  but  war,  and  war, 
and  war.  What  do  you  want  to  hold  my  hand  for? 
Can't  you  see  that  while  you  believe  in  your  Jesus 
we  can't  be  anything  but  enemies?  " 

Montanelli  bent  his  head  and  kissed  the  muti- 
lated hand. 

"  Arthur,  how  can  I  help  believing  in  Him?  If 
I  have  kept  my  faith  through  all  these  frightful 
years,  how  can  I  ever  doubt  Him  any  more,  now 
that  He  has  given  you  back  to  me?  Remember, 
I  thought  I  had  killed  you." 

"  You  have  that  still  to  do." 


THE  GADFLY.  335 

"Arthur!  "  It  was  a  cry  of  actual  terror;  but 
the  Gadfly  went  on,  unheeding: 

"  Let  us  be  honest,  whatever  we  do,  and  not 
shilly-shally.  You  and  I  stand  on  two  sides  of  a 
pit,  and  it's  hopeless  trying  to  join  hands  across 
it.  If  you  have  decided  that  you  can't,  or  won't, 
give  up  that  thing " — he  glanced  again  at  the 
crucifix  on  the  wall — "  you  must  consent  to  what 
the  colonel " 

"Consent!  My  God — consent — Arthur,  but  I 
love  you!  " 

The  Gadfly's  face  contracted  fearfully. 

"  Which  do  you  love  best,  me  or  that  thing?  " 

Montanelli  slowly  rose.  The  very  soul  in  him 
withered  with  dread,  and  he  seemed  to  shrivel  up 
bodily,  and  to  grow  feeble,  and  old,  and  wilted, 
like  a  leaf  that  the  frost  has  touched.  He  had 
awaked  out  of  his  dream,  and  the  outer  darkness 
was  staring  in  upon  an  empty  place. 

"  Arthur,  have  just  a  little  mercy  on  me " 

"  How  much  had  you  for  me  when  your  lies 
drove  me  out  to  be  slave  to  the  blacks  on  the 
sugar-plantations?  You  shudder  at  that — ah, 
these  tender-hearted  saints!  This  is  the  man 
after  God's  own  heart — the  man  that  repents  of 
his  sin  and  lives.  No  one  dies  but  his  son.  You 
say  you  love  me, — your  love  has  cost  me  dear 
enough!  Do  you  think  I  can  blot  out  every- 
thing, and  turn  back  into  Arthur  at  a  few  soft 
words — I,  that  have  been  dish-washer  in  filthy 
half-caste  brothels  and  stable-boy  to  Creole  farmers 
that  were  worse  brutes  than  their  own  cattle? 
I,  that  have  been  zany  in  cap  and  bells  for 
a  strolling  variety  show — drudge  and  Jack-of- 
all-trades  to  the  matadors  in  the  bull-fighting 
ring;  I,  that  have  been  slave  to  every  black 


336  THE  GADFLY. 

beast  who  cared  to  set  his  foot  on  my  neck; 
I,  that  have  been  starved  and  spat  upon  and 
trampled  under  foot;  I,  that  have  begged  for 
mouldy  scraps  and  been  refused  because  the  dogs 
had  the  first  right?  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  all  this! 
How  can  I  tell  you  what  you  have  brought  on  me? 
And  now — you  love  me!  How  much  do  you  love 
me?  Enough  to  give  up  your  God  for  me?  Oh, 
what  has  He  done  for  you,  this  everlasting  Jesus, 
— what  has  He  suffered  for  you,  that  you  should 
love  Him  more  than  me?  Is  it  for  the  pierced 
hands  He  is  so  dear  to  you?  Look  at  mine! 
Look  here,  and  here,  and  here — 

He  tore  open  his  shirt  and  showed  the  ghastly 
scars. 

"  Padre,  this  God  of  yours  is  an  impostor,  His 
wounds  are  sham  wounds,  His  pain  is  all  a  farce! 
It  is  I  that  have  the  right  to  your  heart!  Padre, 
there  is  no  torture  you  have  not  put  me  to;  if 
you  could  only  know  what  my  life  has  been!  And 
yet  I  would  not  die!  I  have  endured  it  all,  and 
have  possessed  my  soul  in  patience,  because  I 
would  come  back  and  fight  this  God  of  yours.  I 
have  held  this  purpose  as  a  shield  against  my 
heart,  and  it  has  saved  me  from  madness,  and  from 
the  second  death.  And  now,  when  I  come  back, 
I  find  Him  still  in  my  place — this  sham  victim  that 
was  crucified  for  six  hours,  forsooth,  and  rose 
again  from  the  dead!  Padre,  I  have  been  cruci- 
fied for  five  years,  and  I,  too,  have  risen  from  the 
dead.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me? 
What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?  " 

He  broke  down.  Montanelli  sat  like  some 
stone  image,  or  like  a  dead  man  set  upright.  At 
first,  under  the  fiery  torrent  of  the  Gadfly's  de- 
spair, he  had  quivered  a  little,  with  the  auto- 


THE  GADFLY.  337 

matic  shrinking  of  the  flesh,  as  under  the  lash 
of  a  whip;  but  now  he  was  quite  still.  After  a 
long  silence  he  looked  up  and  spoke,  lifelessly, 
patiently: 

"  Arthur,  will  you  explain  to  me  more  clearly? 
You  confuse  and  terrify  me  so,  I  can't  understand. 
What  is  it  you  demand  of  me?  " 

The  Gadfly  turned  to  him  a  spectral  face. 

"  I  demand  nothing.  Who  shall  compel  love? 
You  are  free  to  choose  between  us  two  the  one 
who  is  most  dear  to  you.  If  you  love  Him  best, 
choose  Him." 

"  I  can't  understand,"  Montanelli  repeated 
wearily.  "  What  is  there  I  can  choose?  I  cannot 
undo  the  past." 

'  You  have  to  choose  between  us.  If  you  love 
me,  take  that  cross  off  your  neck  and  come  away 
with  me.  My  friends  are  arranging  another 
attempt,  and  with  your  help  they  could  manage 
it  easily.  Then,  when  we  are  safe  over  the  fron- 
tier, acknowledge  me  publicly.  But  if  you  don't 
love  me  enough  for  that, — if  this  wooden  idol  is 
more  to  you  than  I, — then  go  to  the  colonel  and 
tell  him  you  consent.  And  if  you  go,  then  go  at 
once,  and  spare  me  the  misery  of  seeing  you.  I 
have  enough  without  that." 

Montanelli  looked  up,  trembling  faintly.  He 
was  beginning  to  understand. 

"  I  will  communicate  with  your  friends,  of 
course.  But — to  go  with  you — it  is  impossible — 
I  am  a  priest." 

"  And  I  accept  no  favours  from  priests.  I  will 
have  no  more  compromises,  Padre;  I  have  had 
enough  of  them,  and  of  their  consequences.  You 
must  give  up  your  priesthood,  or  you  must  give 
up  me." 


338  THE  GADFLY. 

"  How  can  I  give  you  up?  Arthur,  how  can  I 
give  you  up?  " 

"  Then  give  up  Him.  You  have  to  choose  be- 
tween us.  Would  you  offer  me  a  share  of  your 
love — half  for  me,  half  for  your  fiend  of  a  God? 
I  will  not  take  His  leavings.  If  you  are  His,  you 
are  not  mine." 

"  Would  you  have  me  tear  my  heart  in  two? 
Arthur!  Arthur!  Do  you  want  to  drive  me 
mad?" 

The  Gadfly  struck  his  hand  against   the  wall. 

'  You  have  to  choose  between  us,"  he  repeated 
once  more. 

Montanelli  drew  from  his  breast  a  little  case 
containing  a  bit  of  soiled  and  crumpled  paper. 

"Look!"  he  said. 

"  /  believed  in  you,  as  I  believed  in  God.  God  is 
a  thing  made  of  clay,  that  I  can  smash  ivith  a  hammer; 
and  you  have  fooled  me  with  a  lie." 

The  Gadfly  laughed  and  handed  it  back.  "  How 
d-d-delightfully  young  one  is  at  nineteen!  To 
take  a  hammer  and  smash  things  seems  so  easy. 
It's  that  now — only  it's  I  that  am  under  the  ham- 
mer. As  for  you,  there  are  plenty  of  other  people 
you  can  fool  with  lies — and  they  won't  even  find 
you  out." 

"  As  you  will,"  Montanelli  said.  "  Perhaps  in 
your  place  I  should  be  as  merciless  as  you — God 
knows.  I  can't  do  what  you  ask,  Arthur;  but  I 
will  do  what  I  can.  I  will  arrange  your  escape, 
and  when  you  are  safe  I  will  have  an  accident  in 
the  mountains,  or  take  the  wrong  sleeping- 
draught  by  mistake — whatever  you  like  to  choose. 
Will  that  content  you?  It  is  all  I  can  do.  It  is  a 


THE  GADFLY. 


339 


great  sin;  but  I  think  He  will  forgive  me  He  is 
more  merciful " 

The  Gadfly  flung  out  both  hands  with  a  sharp  cry. 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  much!  That  is  too  much! 
What  have  I  done  that  you  should  think  of  me 

that  way?  What  right  have  you As  if  I 

wanted  to  be  revenged  on  you!  Can't  you  see 
that  I  only  want  to  save  you?  Will  you  never 
understand  that  I  love  you?  " 

He  caught  hold  of  Montanelli's  hands  and 
covered  them  with  burning  kisses  and  tears. 

"  Padre,  come  away  with  us!  What  have  you 
to  do  with  this  dead  world  of  priests  and  idols? 
They  are  full  of  the  dust  of  bygone  ages;  they  are 
rotten;  they  are  pestilent  and  foul!  Come  out  of 
this  plague-stricken  Church — come  away  with  us 
into  the  light!  Padre,  it  is  we  that  are  life  and 
youth;  it  is  we  that  are  the  everlasting  springtime; 
it  is  we  that  are  the  future!  Padre,  the  dawn  is 
close  upon  us — will  you  miss  your  part  in  the  sun- 
rise? Wake  up,  and  let  us  forget  the  horrible 
nightmares, — wake  up,  and  we  will  begin  our  life 
again!  Padre,  I  have  always  loved  you — always, 
even  when  you  killed  me — will  you  kill  me  again?  " 

Montanelli  tore  his  hands  away.  "  Oh,  God 
have  mercy  on  me!"  he  cried  out.  "You  have 
your  mother's  eyes! " 

A  strange  silence,  long  and  deep  and  sudden,  fell 
upon  them  both.  In  the  gray  twilight  they 
looked  at  each  other,  and  their  hearts  stood  still 
with  fear. 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say?  "  Montanelli 
whispered.  "  Any — hope  to  give  me?  " 

"  No.  My  life  is  of  no  use  to  me  except  to 
fight  priests.  I  am  not  a  man;  I  am  a  knife.  If 
you  let  me  live,  you  sanction  knives." 


340  THE  GADFLY. 

Montanelli  turned  to  the  crucifix.  "  God! 
Listen  to  this !  " 

His  voice  died  away  into  the  empty  stillness 
without  response.  Only  the  mocking  devil  awoke 
again  in  the  Gadfly. 

"  '  C-c-call  him  louder;  perchance  he  s-s-sleep- 
eth' 

Montanelli  started  up  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  straight  before 
him; — then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  pallet, 
covered  his  face  with  both  hands,  and  burst  into 
tears.  A  long  shudder  passed  through  the  Gad- 
fly, and  the  damp  cold  broke  out  on  his  body.  He 
knew  what  the  tears  meant. 

He  drew  the  blanket  over  his  head  that  he  might 
not  hear.  It  was  enough  that  he  had  to  die — he 
who  was  so  vividly,  magnificently  alive.  But  he 
could  not  shut  out  the  sound;  it  rang  in  his 
ears,  it  beat  in  his  brain,  it  throbbed  in  all  his 
pulses.  And  still  Montanelli  sobbed  and  sobbed, 
and  the  tears  dripped  down  between  his  fingers. 

He  left  off  sobbing  at  last,  and  dried  his  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief,  like  a  child  that  has  been 
crying.  As  he  stood  up  the  handkerchief  slipped 
from  his  knee  and  fell  to  the  floor. 

'  There  is  no  use  in  talking  any  more,"  he  said. 
"  You  understand?" 

"  I  understand,"  the  Gadfly  answered,  with  dull 
submission.  "  It's  not  your  fault.  Your  God  is 
hungry,  and  must  be  fed." 

Montanelli  turned  towards  him.  The  grave 
that  was  to  be  dug  was  not  more  still  than  they 
were.  Silent,  they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
as  two  lovers,  torn  apart,  might  gaze  across  the 
barrier  they  cannot  pass. 

It  was  the  Gadfly  whose  eyes  sank  first.     He 


THE  GADFLY.  341 

shrank  down,  hiding  his  face;  and  Montandli 
understood  that  the  gesture  meant  "  Go!  "  He 
turned,  and  went  out  of  the  cell.  A  moment 
later  the  Gadfly  started  up. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  bear  it!  Padre,  come  back! 
Come  back!  " 

The  door  was  shut.  He  looked  around  him 
slowly,  with  a  wide,  still  gaze,  and  understood  that 
all  was  over.  The  Galilean  had  conquered. 

All  night  long  the  grass  waved  softly  in  the 
courtyard  below — the  grass  that  was  so  soon  to 
wither,  uprooted  by  the  spade;  and  all  night  long 
the  Gadfly  lay  alone  in  the  darkness,  and  sobbed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  court-martial  was  held  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing. It  was  a  very  short  and  simple  affair;  a 
mere  formality,  occupying  barely  twenty  minutes. 
There  was,  indeed,  nothing  to  spend  much  time 
over;  no  defence  was  allowed,  and  the  only  wit- 
nesses were  the  wounded  spy  and  officer  and  a 
few  soldiers.  The  sentence  was  drawn  up  before- 
hand; Montanelli  had  sent  in  the  desired  informal 
consent;  and  the  judges  (Colonel  Ferrari,  the  local 
major  of  dragoons,  and  two  officers  of  the  Swiss 
guards)  had  little  to  do.  The  indictment  was 
read  aloud,  the  witnesses  gave  their  evidence,  and 
the  signatures  were  affixed  to  the  sentence,  which 
was  then  read  to  the  condemned  man  with  befit- 
ting solemnity.  He  listened  in  silence;  and  when 
asked,  according  to  the  usual  form,  whether  he  had 
anything  to  say,  merely  waved  the  question  aside 
with  an  impatient  movement  of  his  hand.  Hidden 
on  his  breast  was  the  handkerchief  „ which  Monta- 


342  THE  GADFLY. 

nelli  had  let  fall.  It  had  been  kissed  and  wept 
over  all  night,  as  though  it  were  a  living  thing. 
Now  he  looked  wan  and  spiritless,  and  the  traces 
of  tears  were  still  about  his  eyelids;  but  the  words: 
"  to  be  shot,"  did  not  seem  to  affect  him  much. 
When  they  were  uttered,  the  pupils  of  his  eyes 
dilated,  but  that  was  all. 

"  Take  him  back  to  his  cell,"  the  Governor  said, 
when  all  the  formalities  were  over;  and  the  ser- 
geant, who  was  evidently  near  to  breaking  down, 
touched  the  motionless  figure  on  the  shoulder. 
The  Gadfly  looked  round  him  with  a  little  start. 

"Ah,  yes!"  he  said.     "I  forgot." 

There  was  something  almost  like  pity  in  the 
Governor's  face.  He  was  not  a  cruel  man  by 
nature,  and  was  secretly  a  little  ashamed  of  the 
part  he  had  been  playing  during-  the  last  month. 
Now  that  his  main  point  was  gained  he  was  willing 
to  make  every  little  concession  in  his  power. 

'  You  needn't  put  the  irons  on  again,"  he  said, 
glancing  at  the  bruised  and  swollen  wrists.  "  And 
he  can  stay  in  his  own  cell.  The  condemned  cell 
is  wretchedly  dark  and  gloomy,"  he  added,  turning 
to  his  nephew;  "and  really  the  thing's  a  mere 
formality." 

He  coughed  and  shifted  his  feet  in  evident  em- 
barrassment ;  then  called  back  the  sergeant,  who 
was  leaving  the  room  with  his  prisoner. 

"  Wait,  sergeant;  I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

The  Gadfly  did  not  move,  and  the  Governor's 
voice  seemed  to  fall  on  unresponsive  ears. 

"If  you  have  any  message  you  would  like  con- 
veyed to  your  friends  or  relatives —  You  have 
relatives,  I  suppose?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Well,  think  it  over  and  tell  me,  or  the  priest. 


THE  GADFLY.  343 

I  will  see  it  is  not  neglected.  You  had  better  give 
your  messages  to  the  priest;  he  shall  come  at  once, 
and  stay  the  night  with  you.  If  there  is  any  other 
wish " 

The  Gadfly  looked  up. 

"  Tell  the  priest  I  would  rather  be  alone.  I 
have  no  friends  and  no  messages." 

"  But  you  will  want  to  confess." 

"  I  am  an  atheist.  I  want  nothing  but  to  be 
left  in  peace." 

He  said  it  in  a  dull,  quiet  voice,  without  defiance 
or  irritation;  and  turned  slowly  away.  At  the 
door  he  stopped  again. 

"  I  forgot,  colonel ;  there  is  a  favour  I  wanted 
to  ask.  Don't  let  them  tie  me  or  bandage  my 
eyes  to-morrow,  please.  I  will  stand  quite  still." 

At  sunrise  on  Wednesday  morning  they  brought 
him  out  into  the  courtyard.  His  lameness  was 
more  than  usually  apparent,  and  he  walked  with 
evident  difficulty  and  pain,  leaning  heavily  on  the 
sergeant's  arm;  but  all  the  weary  submission  had 
gone  out  of  his  face.  The  spectral  terrors  that 
had  crushed  him  down  in  the  empty  silence,  the 
visions  and  dreams  of  the  world  of  shadows,  were 
gone  with  the  night  which  gave  them  birth;  and 
once  the  sun  was  shining  and  his  enemies  were 
present  to  rouse  the  fighting  spirit  in  him,  he  was 
not  afraid. 

The  six  carabineers  who  had  been  told  off  for 
the  execution  were  drawn  up  in  line  against  the 
ivied  wall;  the  same  crannied  and  crumbling  wall 
down  which  he  had  climbed  on  the  night  of  his 
unlucky  attempt.  They  could  hardly  refrain  from 
weeping  as  they  stood  together,  each  man  with  his 
carbine  in  his  hand.  It  seemed  to  them  a  horror 


344  THE   GADFLY. 

beyond  imagination  that  they  should  be  called  out 
to  kill  the  Gadfly.  He  and  his  stinging  repartees, 
his  perpetual  laughter,  his  bright,  infectious  cour- 
age, had  come  into  their  dull  and  dreary  lives  like 
a  wandering  sunbeam;  and  that  he  should  die,  and 
at  their  hands,  was  to  them  as  the  darkening  of 
the  clear  lamps  of  heaven. 

Under  the  great  fig-tree  in  the  courtyard,  his 
grave  was  waiting  for  him.  It  had  been  dug  in 
the  night  by  unwilling  hands;  and  tears  had  fallen 
on  the  spade.  As  he  passed  he  looked  down, 
smiling,  at  the  black  pit  and  the  withering  grass 
beside  it;  and  drew  a  long  breath,  to  smell  the 
scent  of  the  freshly  turned  earth. 

Near  the  tree  the  sergeant  stopped  short,  and 
the  Gadfly  looked  round  with  his  brightest  smile. 

"  Shall  I  stand  here,  sergeant?  " 

The  man  nodded  silently;  there  was  a  lump  in 
his  throat,  and  he  could  not  have  spoken  to  save 
his  life.  The  Governor,  his  nephew,  the  lieutenant 
of  carabineers  who  was  to  command,  a  doctor  and 
a  priest  were  already  in  the  courtyard,  and  came 
forward  with  grave  faces,  half  abashed  under  the 
radiant  defiance  of  the  Gadfly's  laughing  eyes. 

"  G-good  morning,  gentlemen!  Ah,  and  his 
reverence  is  up  so  early,  too!  How  do  you  do, 
captain?  This  is  a  pleasanter  occasion  for  you 
than  our  former  meeting,  isn't  it?  I  see  your  arm 
is  still  in  a  sling;  that's  because  I  bungled  my 
work.  These  good  fellows  will  do  theirs  better — 
won't  you,  lads?  " 

He  glanced  round  at  the  gloomy  faces  of  the 
carabineers. 

"  There'll  be  no  need  of  slings  this  time,  any  way. 
There,  there,  you  needn't  look  so  doleful  over  it! 
Put  your  heels  together  and  show  how  straight 


THE  GADFLY.  345 

you  can  shoot.  Before  long  there'll  be  more  work 
cut  out  for  you  than  you'll  know  how  to  get 
through,  and  there's  nothing  like  practice  before- 
hand." 

"  My  son,"  the  priest  interrupted,  coming  for- 
ward, while  the  others  drew  back  to  leave  them 
alone  together;  "  in  a  few  minutes  you  must  enter 
into  the  presence  of  your  Maker.  Have  you  no 
other  use  but  this  for  these  last  moments  that  are 
left  you  for  repentance?  Think,  I  entreat  you, 
how  dreadful  a  thing  it  is  to  die  without  absolu- 
tion, with  all  your  sins  upon  your  head.  When 
you  stand  before  your  Judge  it  will  be  too  late  to 
repent.  Will  you  approach  His  awful  throne  with 
a  jest  upon  your  lips?  " 

"  A  jest,  your  reverence?  It  is  your  side  that 
needs  that  little  homily,  I  think.  When  our  turn 
comes  we  shall  use  field-guns  instead  of  half  a 
dozen  second-hand  carbines,  and  then  you'll  see 
how  much  we're  in  jest." 

"  You  will  use  field-guns!  Oh,  unhappy  man! 
Have  you  still  not  realized  on  what  frightful  brink 
you  stand?  " 

The  Gadfly  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder  at 
the  open  grave. 

"  And  s-s-so  your  reverence  thinks  that,  when 
you  have  put  me  down  there,  you  will  have  done 
with  me?  Perhaps  you  will  lay  a  stone  on  the  top 
to  pre-v-vent  a  r-resurrection  '  after  three  days '? 
No  fear,  your  reverence!  I  shan't  poach  on  the 
monopoly  in  cheap  theatricals;  I  shall  lie  as  still  as 
a  m-mouse,  just  where  you  put  me.  And  all  the 
same,  we  shall  use  field-guns." 

"  Oh,  merciful  God,"  the  priest  cried  out;  "  for- 
give this  wretched  man! " 

"  Amen! "  murmured  the  lieutenant  of  carabin- 


346  THE  GADFLY. 

eers,  in  a  deep  bass  growl,  while  the  colonel  and 
his  nephew  crossed  themselves  devoutly. 

As  there  was  evidently  no  hope  of  further  insist- 
ence producing  any  effect,  the  priest  gave  up  the 
fruitless  attempt  and  moved  aside,  shaking  his 
head  and  murmuring  a  prayer.  The  short  and 
simple  preparations  were  made  without  more  de- 
lay, and  the  Gadfly  placed  himself  in  the  required 
position,  only  turning  his  head  to  glance  up  for 
a  moment  at  the  red  and  yellow  splendour  of  the 
sunrise.  He  had  repeated  the  request  that  his 
eyes  might  not  be  bandaged,  and  his  defiant  face 
had  wrung  from  the  colonel  a  reluctant  consent. 
They  had  both  forgotten  what  they  were  inflicting 
on  the  soldiers. 

He  stood  and  faced  them,  smiling,  and  the  car- 
bines shook  in  their  hands. 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  he  said. 

The  lieutenant  stepped  forward,  trembling  a 
little  with  excitement.  He  had  never  given  the 
word  of  command  for  an  execution  before. 

"  Ready — present — fire!  " 

The  Gadfly  staggered  a  little  and  recovered  his 
balance.  One  unsteady  shot  had  grazed  his  cheek, 
and  a  little  blood  fell  on  to  the  white  cravat. 
Another  ball  had  struck  him  above  the  knee. 
When  the  smoke  cleared  away  the  soldiers  looked 
and  saw  him  smiling  still  and  wiping  the  blood 
from  his  cheek  with  the  mutilated  hand. 

"  A  bad  shot,  men!  "  he  said;  and  his  voice  cut 
in,  clear  and  articulate,  upon  the  dazed  stupor  of 
the  wretched  soldiers.  "  Have  another  try." 

A  general  groan  and  shudder  passed  through 
the  row  of  carabineers.  Each  man  had  aimed  aside, 
with  a  secret  hope  that  the  death-shot  would  come 
from  his  neighbour's  hand,  not  his;  and  there  the 


THE  GADFLY.  347 

Gadfly  stood  and  smiled  at  them;  they  had  only 
turned  the  execution  into  a  butchery,  and  the 
whole  ghastly  business  was  to  do  again.  They 
were  seized  with  sudden  terror,  and,  lowering  their 
carbines,  listened  hopelessly  to  the  furious  curses 
and  reproaches  of  the  officers,  staring  in  dull 
horror  at  the  man  whom  they  had  killed  and  who 
somehow  was  not  dead. 

The  Governor  shook  his  fist  in  their  faces, 
savagely  shouting  to  them  to  stand  in  position, 
to  present  arms,  to  make  haste  and  get  the  thing 
over.  He  had  become  as  thoroughly  demoralized 
as  they  were,  and  dared  not  look  at  the  terrible 
figure  that  stood,  and  stood,  and  would  not  fall. 
When  the  Gadfly  spoke  to  him  he  started  and 
shuddered  at  the  sound  of  the  mocking  voice. 

"  You  have  brought  out  the  awkward  squad  this 
morning,  colonel!  Let  me  see  if  I  can  manage 
them  better.  Now,  men!  Hold  your  tool  higher 
there,  you  to  the  left.  Bless  your  heart,  man,  it's 
a  carbine  you've  got  in  your  hand,  not  a  frying- 
pan!  Are  you  all  straight?  Now  then!  Ready 
— present 

"Fire!"  the  colonel  interrupted,  starting  for- 
ward. It  was  intolerable  that  this  man  should 
give  the  command  for  his  own  death. 

.^rThere  was  another  confused,  disorganized  vol- 
ley, and  the  line  broke  up  into  a  knot  of  shivering 
figures,  staring  before  them  with  wild  eyes.  One 
of  the  soldiers  had  not  even  discharged  his  carbine; 
he  had  flung  it  away,  and  crouched  down,  moaning 
under  his  breath:  "  I  can't — I  can't! " 

The  smoke  cleared  slowly  away,  floating  up  into 
the  glimmer  of  the  early  sunlight;  and  they  saw 
that  the  Gadfly  had  fallen;  and  saw,  too,  that  he 
was  still  not  dead.  For  the  first  moment  soldiers 


J48  THE  GADFLY. 

and  officials  stood  as  if  they  had  been  turned  to 
stone,  and  watched  the  ghastly  thing  that  writhed 
and  struggled  on  the  ground;  then  both  doctor 
and  colonel  rushed  forward  with  a  cry,  for  he  had 
dragged  himself  up  on  one  knee  and  was  still  facing 
the  soldiers,  and  still  laughing. 

"  Another  miss!  Try — again,  lads — see — if  you 
can't " 

He  suddenly  swayed  and  fell  over  sideways  on 
the  grass. 

"  Is  he  dead? "  the  colonel  asked  under  his 
breath;  and  the  doctor,  kneeling  down,  with  a 
hand  on  the  bloody  shirt,  answered  softly: 

"  I  think  so — God  be  praised!  " 

"  God  be  praised!  "  the  colonel  repeated.  "  At 
last!" 

His  nephew  was  touching  him  on  the  arm. 

"Uncle!  It's  the  Cardinal!  He's  at  the  gate 
and  wants  to  come  in." 

"What?  He  can't  come  in — I  won't  have 
it!  What  are  the  guards  about?  Your  Emi- 
nence  " 

The  gate  had  opened  and  shut,  and  Montanelli 
was  standing  in  the  courtyard,  looking  before  him 
with  still  and  awful  eyes. 

"  Your  Eminence!  I  must  beg  of  you — this  is 
not  a  fit  sight  for  you!  The  execution  is  only  just 
over;  the  body  is  not  yet " 

"  I  have  come  to  look  at  him,"  Montanelli  said. 
Even  at  the  moment  it  struck  the  Governor  that 
his  voice  and  bearing  were  those  of  a  sleep-walker. 

"  Oh,  my  God!  "  one  of  the  soldiers  cried  out 
suddenly;  and  the  Governor  glanced  hastily  back. 
Surely— 

The  blood-stained  heap  on  the  grass  had  once 
more  begun  to  struggle  and  moan.  The  doctor 


THE  GADFLY.  349 

flung  himself  down  and  lifted  the  head  upon  his 
knee. 

"  Make  haste!  "  he  cried  in  desperation.  "  You 
savages,  make  haste!  Get  it  over,  for  God's  sake! 
There's  no  bearing  this!  " 

Great  jets  of  blood  poured  over  his  hands,  and 
the  convulsions  of  the  figure  that  he  held  in  his 
arms  shook  him,  too,  from  head  to  foot.  As  he 
looked  frantically  round  for  help,  the  priest  bent 
over  hi%  shoulder  and  put  a  crucifix  to  the  lips  of 
the  dying  man. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father  and  of  the  Son " 

The  Gadfly  raised  himself  against  the  doctor's 
knee,  and,  with  wide-open  eyes,  looked  straight 
upon  the  crucifix. 

Slowly,  amid  hushed  and  frozen  stillness,  he 
lifted  the  broken  right  hand  and  pushed  away  the 
image.  There  was  a  red  smear  across  its  face. 

"  Padre — is  your — God — satisfied?  " 

His  head  fell  back  on  the  doctor's  arm. 

"  Your  Eminence!  " 

As  the  Cardinal  did  not  awake  from  his  stupor, 
Colonel  Ferrari  repeated,  louder: 

"  Your  Eminence!  " 

Montanelli  looked  up. 

"  He  is  dead." 

"  Quite  dead,  your  Eminence.  Will  you  not 
come  away?  This  is  a  horrible  sight." 

"  He  is  dead,"  Montanelli  repeated,  and  looked 
down  again  at  the  face.  "  I  touched  him;  "and  he 
is  dead." 

;<  What  does  he  expect  a  man  to  be  with  half  a 
dozen  bullets  in  him?  "  the  lieutenant  whispered 
contemptuously;  and  the  doctor  whispered  back: 
"  I  think  the  sight  of  the  blood  has  upset  him." 


350  THE  GADFLY. 

The  Governor  put  his  hand  firmly  on  Monta 
nelli's  arm. 

"  Your  Eminence — you  had  better  not  look  at 
him  any  longer.  Will  you  allow  the  chaplain  to 
escort  you  home?  " 

"  Yes— I  will  go." 

He  turned  slowly  from  the  blood-stained  spot 
and  walked  away,  the  priest  and  sergeant  follow- 
ing. At  the  gate  he  paused  and  looked  back,  with 
a  ghostlike,  still  surprise. 

"  He  is  dead." 

A  few  hours  later  Marcone  went  up  to  a  cot- 
tage on  the  hillside  to  tell  Martini  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  need  for  him  to  throw  away  his 
life. 

All  the  preparations  for  a  second  attempt  at 
rescue  were  ready,  as  the  plot  was  much  more 
simple  than  the  former  one.  It  had  been  arranged 
that  on  the  following  morning,  as  the  Corpus 
Domini  procession  passed  along  the  fortress  hill, 
Martini  should  step  forward  out  of  the  crowd, 
draw  a  pistol  from  his  breast,  and  fire  in  the  Gov- 
ernor's face.  In  the  moment  of  wild  confusion 
which  would  follow  twenty  armed  men  were  to 
make  a  sudden  rush  at  the  gate,  break  into  the 
tower,  and,  taking  the  turnkey  with  them  by  force, 
to  enter  the  prisoner's  cell  and  carry  him  bodily 
away,  killing  or  overpowering  everyone  who  inter- 
fered with  them.  From  the  gate  they  were  to 
retire  fighting,  and  cover  the  retreat  of  a  second 
band  of  armed  and  mounted  smugglers,  who  would 
carry  him  off  into  a  safe  hiding-place  in  the 
hills.  The  only  person  in  the  little  group  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  plan  was  Gemma;  it  had  been 
kept  from  her  at  Martini's  special  desire.  "  She 


THE  GADFLY.  351 

will  break  her  heart  over  it  soon  enough,"  he  had 
said. 

As  the  smuggler  came  in  at  the  garden  gate 
Martini  opened  the  glass  door  and  stepped  out 
on  to  the  verandah  to  meet  him. 

"  Any  news,  Marcone?     Ah!  " 

The  smuggler  had  pushed  back  his  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hat. 

They  sat  down  together  on  the  verandah.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken  on  either  side.  From  the 
instant  when  Martini  had  caught  sight  of  the  face 
under  the  hat-brim  he  had  understood. 

"  When  was  it?  "  he  asked  after  a  long  pause; 
and  his  own  voice,  in  his  ears,  was  as  dull  and 
wearisome  as  everything  else. 

"  This  morning,  at  sunrise.  The  sergeant  told 
me.  He  was  there  and  saw  it." 

Martini  looked  down  and  flicked  a  stray  thread 
from  his  coat-sleeve. 

Vanity  of  vanities;  this  also  is  vanity.  He  was 
to  have  died  to-morrow.  And  now  the  land 
of  his  heart's  desire  had  vanished,  like  the  fairy- 
land of  golden  sunset  dreams  that  fades  away  when 
the  darkness  comes;  and  he  was  driven  back  into 
the  world  of  every  day  and  every  night — the  world 
of  Grassini  and  Galli,  of  ciphering  and  pam- 
phleteering, of  party  squabbles  between  comrades 
and  dreary  intrigues  among  Austrian  spies — of  the 
old  revolutionary  mill-round  that  maketh  the 
heart  sick.  And  somewhere  down  at  the  bottom 
of  his  consciousness  there  was  a  great  empty  place; 
a  place  that  nothing  and  no  one  would  fill  any 
more,  now  that  the  Gadfly  was  dead. 

Someone  was  asking  him  a  question,  and  he 
raised  his  head,  wondering  what  could  be  left  that 
was  worth  the  trouble  of  talking  about. 


352  THE  GADFLY. 

"  What  did  you  say?  " 

"  I  was  saying  that  of  course  you  will  break  the 
news  to  her." 

Life,  and  all  the  horror  of  life,  came  back  into 
Martini's  face. 

"  How  can  I  tell  her?  "  he  cried  out.  "  You 
might  as  well  ask  me  to  go  and  stab  her.  Oh, 
how  can  I  tell  her — how  can  I!  " 

He  had  clasped  both  hands  over  his  eyes;  but, 
without  seeing,  he  felt  the  smuggler  start  beside 
him,  and  looked  up.  Gemma  was  standing  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Have  you  heard,  Cesare?  "  she  said.  "  It  is 
all  over.  They  have  shot  him." 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

"INTROIBO  ad  altare  Dei."  Montanelli  stood 
before  the  high  altar  among  his  ministers  and  aco- 
lytes and  read  the  Introit  aloud  in  steady  tones. 
All  the  Cathedral  was  a  blaze  of  light  and  colour; 
from  the  holiday  dresses  of  the  congregation  to 
the  pillars  with  their  flaming  draperies  and  wreaths 
of  flowers  there  was  no  dull  spot  in  it.  Over  the 
open  spaces  of  the  doorway  fell  great  scarlet  cur- 
tains, through  whose  folds  the  hot  June  sunlight 
glowed,  as  through  the  petals  of  red  poppies  in 
a  corn-field.  The  religious  orders  with  their  can- 
dles and  torches,  the  companies  of  the  parishes 
with  their  crosses  and  flags,  lighted  up  the  dim 
side-chapels;  and  in  the  aisles  the  silken  folds  of 
the  processional  banners  drooped,  their  gilded 
staves  and  tassels  glinting  under  the  arches.  The 
surplices  of  the  choristers  gleamed,  rainbow- 
tinted,  beneath  the  coloured  windows;  the  sunlight 
lay  on  the  chancel  floor  in  chequered  stains  of 


THE  GADFLY.  353 

orange  and  purple  and  green.  Behind  the  altar 
hung  a  shimmering  veil  of  silver  tissue;  and  against 
the  veil  and  the  decorations  and  the  altar-lights 
the  Cardinal's  figure  stood  out  in  its  trailing  white 
robes  like  a  marble  statue  that  had  come  to  life. 

As  was  customary  on  processional  days,  he  was 
only  to  preside  at  the  Mass,  not  to  celebrate,  so 
at  the  end  of  the  Indulgentiam  he  turned  from  the 
altar  and  walked  slowly  to  the  episcopal  throne, 
celebrant  and  ministers  bowing  low  as  he  passed. 

"  I'm  afraid  His  Eminence  is  not  well,"  one  of 
the  canons  whispered  to  his  neighbour;  "  he  seems 
so  strange." 

Montanelli  bent  his  head  to  receive  the  jewelled 
mitre.  The  priest  who  was  acting  as  deacon  of 
honour  put  it  on,  looked  at  him  for  an  instant, 
then  leaned  forward  and  whispered  softly: 

"  Your  Eminence,  are  you  ill?  " 

Montanelli  turned  slightly  towards  him.  There 
was  no  recognition  in  his  eyes. 

"  Pardon,  Your  Eminence! "  the  priest  whis- 
pered, as  he  made  a  genuflexion  and  went  back  to 
his  place,  reproaching  himself  for  having  inter- 
rupted the  Cardinal's  devotions. 

The  familiar  ceremony  went  on;  and  Montanelli 
sat  erect  and  still,  his  glittering  mitre  and  gold- 
brocaded  vestments  flashing  back  the  sunlight, 
and  the  heavy  folds  of  his  white  festival  mantle 
sweeping  down  over  the  red  carpet.  The  light  of  a 
hundred  candles  sparkled  among  the  sapphires  on 
his  breast,  and  shone  into  the  deep,  still  eyes  that 
had  no  answering  gleam;  and  when,  at  the  words: 
"  Benedicite,  pater  eminentissime,"  he  stooped  to 
bless  the  incense,  and  the  sunbeams  played  among 
the  diamonds,  he  might  have  recalled  some  splen- 
did and  fearful  ice-spirit  of  the  mountains,  crowned 


354  THE  GADFLY. 

with  rainbows  and  robed  in  drifted  snow,  scatter- 
ing, with  extended  hands,  a  shower  of  blessings  or 
of  curses. 

At  the  elevation  of  the  Host  he  descended  from 
his  throne  and  knelt  before  the  altar.  There  was 
a  strange,  still  evenness  about  all  his  movements; 
and  as  he  rose  and  went  back  to  his  place  the  major 
of  dragoons,  who  was  sitting  in  gala  uniform  be- 
hind the  Governor,  whispered  to  the  wounded 
captain :  '  The  old  Cardinal's  breaking,  not  a 
doubt  of  it.  He  goes  through  his  work  like  a 
machine." 

"  So  much  the  better!"  the  captain  whispered 
back.  "  He's  been  nothing  but  a  mill-stone  round 
all  our  necks  ever  since  that  confounded  amnesty." 

"  He  did  give  in,  though,  about  the  court- 
martial." 

'  Yes,  at  last;  but  he  was  a  precious  time  mak- 
ing up  his  mind  to.  Heavens,  how  close  it  is! 
We  shall  all  get  sun-stroke  in  the  procession.  It's 
a  pity  we're  not  Cardinals,  to  have  a  canopy  held 

over  our  heads  all  the  way Sh-sh-sh! 

There's  my  uncle  looking  at  us!  " 

Colonel  Ferrari  had  turned  round  to  glance 
severely  at  the  two  younger  officers.  After  the 
solemn  event  of  yesterday  morning  he  was  in  a 
devout  and  serious  frame  of  mind,  and  inclined  to 
reproach  them  with  a  want  of  proper  feeling  about 
what  he  regarded  as  "  a  painful  necessity  of  state." 

The  masters  of  the  ceremonies  began  to 
assemble  and  place  in  order  those  who  were  to 
take  part  in  the  procession.  Colonel  Ferrari  rose 
from  his  place  and  moved  up  to  the  chancel-rail, 
beckoning  to  the  other  officers  to  accompany  him. 
When  the  Mass  was  finished,  and  the  Host  had 
been  placed  behind  the  crystal  shield  in  the  proces- 


THE  GADFLY.  355 

sional  sun,  the  celebrant  and  his  ministers  retired 
to  the  sacristy  to  change  their  vestments,  and  a 
little  buzz  of  whispered  conversation  broke  out 
through  the  church.  Montanelli  remained  seated 
on  his  throne,  looking  straight  before  him,  im- 
movably. All  the  sea  of  human  life  and  motion 
seemed  to  surge  around  and  below  him,  and  to  die 
away  into  stillness  about  his  feet.  A  censer  was 
brought  to  him;  and  he  raised  his  hand  with  the 
action  of  an  automaton,  and  put  the  incense  into 
the  vessel,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left. 

The  clergy  had  come  back  from  the  sacristy, 
and  were  waiting  in  the  chancel  for  him  to  de- 
scend; but  he  remained  utterly  motionless.  The 
deacon  of  honour,  bending  forward  to  take  off  the 
mitre,  whispered  again,  hesitatingly: 

"  Your  Eminence!  " 

The  Cardinal  looked  round. 

"  What  did  you  say?  " 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  the  procession  will  not  be 
too  much  for  you?  The  sun  is  very  hot." 

"  What  does  the  sun  matter?  " 

Montanelli  spoke  in  a  cold,  measured  voice, 
and  the  priest  again  fancied  that  he  must  have 
given  offence. 

"  Forgive  me,  Your  Eminence.  I  thought  you 
seemed  unwell." 

Montanelli  rose  without  answering.  He  paused 
a  moment  on  the  upper  step  of  the  throne,  and 
asked  in  the  same  measured  way: 

"What  is  that?" 

The  long  train  of  his  mantle  swept  down  over 
the  steps  and  lay  spread  out  on  the  chancel-floor, 
and  he  was  pointing  to  a  fiery  stain  on  the  white 
safin. 


356  THE  GADFLY. 

"  It's  only  the  sunlight  shining  through  a  col- 
oured window,  Your  Eminence." 

"  The  sunlight?     Is  it  so  red?  " 

He  descended  the  steps,  and  knelt  before  the 
altar,  swinging  the  censer  slowly  to  and  fro.  As 
he  handed  it  back,  the  chequered  sunlight  fell  on 
his  bared  head  and  wide,  uplifted  eyes,  and  cast  a 
crimson  glow  across  the  white  veil  that  his  minis- 
ters were  folding  round  him. 

He  took  from  the  deacon  the  sacred  golden  sun; 
and  stood  up,  as  choir  and  organ  burst  into  a  peal 
of  triumphal  melody. 

"  Pange,  lingua,  gloriosi 
Corporis  mysterium, 
Sanguinisque  pretiosi 
Quern  in  mundi  pretium, 
Fructus  ventris  generosi 
Rex  effuclit  gentium." 

The  bearers  came  slowly  forward,  and  raised  the 
silken  canopy  over  his  head,  while  the  deacons  of 
honour  stepped  to  their  places  at  his  right  and  left 
and  drew  back  the  long  folds  of  the  mantle.  As 
the  acolytes  stooped  to  lift  his  robe  from  the 
chancel-floor,  the  lay  fraternities  heading  the  pro- 
cession started  to  pace  down  the  nave  in  stately 
double  file,  with  lighted  candles  held  to  left  and 
right. 

He  stood  above  them,  by  the  altar,  motionless 
under  the  white  canopy,  holding  the  Eucharist 
aloft  with  steady  hands,  and  watched  them  as  they 
passed.  Two  by  two,  with  candles  and  banners 
and  torches,  with  crosses  and  images  and  flags, 
they  swept  slowly  down  the  chancel  steps,  along 
the  broad  nave  between  the  garlanded  pillars,  and 
out  under  the  lifted  scarlet  curtains  into  the  blaz- 


THE  GADFLY.  357 

ing  sunlight  of  the  street;  and  the  sound  of  their 
chanting  died  into  a  rolling  murmur,  drowned  in 
the  pealing  of  new  and  newer  voices,  as  the  unend- 
ing stream  flowed  on,  and  yet  new  footsteps 
echoed  down  the  nave. 

The  companies  of  the  parishes  passed,  with  their 
white  shrouds  and  veiled  faces;  then  the  brothers 
of  the  Misericordia,  black  from  head  to  foot, 
their  eyes  faintly  gleaming  through  the  holes  in 
their  masks.  Next  came  the  monks  in  solemn 
row:  the  mendicant  friars,  with  their  dusky  cowls 
and  bare,  brown  feet;  the  white-robed,  grave  Do- 
minicans. Then  followed  the  lay  officials  of  the 
district;  dragoons  and  carabineers  and  the  local 
police-officials;  the  Governor  in  gala  uniform,  with 
his  brother  officers  beside  him.  A  deacon  fol- 
lowed, holding  up  a  great  cross  between  two 
acolytes  with  gleaming  candles;  and  as  the  cur- 
tains were  lifted  high  to  let  them  pass  out  at  the 
doorway,  Montanelli  caught  a  momentary  glimpse, 
from  where  he  stood  under  the  canopy,  of  the  sun- 
lit blaze  of  carpeted  street  and  flag-hung  walls  and 
white-robed  children  scattering  roses.  Ah,  the 
roses;  how  red  they  were! 

On  and  on  the  procession  paced  in  order;  form 
succeeding  to  form  and  colour  to  colour.  Hong 
white  surplices,  grave  and  seemly,  gave  place  to 
gorgeous  vestments  and  embroidered  pluvials. 
Now  passed  a  tall  and  slender  golden  cross,  borne 
high  above  the  lighted  candles;  now  the  cathedral 
canons,  stately  in  their  dead  white  mantles.  A 
chaplain  paced  down  the  chancel,  with  the  crozier 
between  two  flaring  torches;  then  the  acolytes 
moved  fonvard  in  step,  their  censers  swinging  to 
the  rhythm  of  the  music;  the  bearers  raised  the 
canopy  higher,  counting  their  steps:  "  One,  two; 


358  THE  GADFLY. 

one,  two!  "  and  Montanelli  started  upon  the  Way 
of  the  Cross. 

Down  the  chancel  steps  and  all  along  the  nave 
he  passed;  under  the  gallery  where  the  organ 
pealed  and  thundered;  under  the  lifted  curtains 
that  were  so  red — so  fearfully  red;  and  out  into 
the  glaring  street,  where  the  blood-red  roses  lay 
and  withered,  crushed  into  the  red  carpet  by  the 
passing  of  many  feet.  A  moment's  pause  at  the 
door,  while  the  lay  officials  came  forward  to  replace 
the  canopy-bearers;  then  the  procession  moved  on 
again,  and  he  with  it,  his  hands  clasping  the 
Eucharistic  sun,  and  the  voices  of  the  choristers 
swelling  and  dying  around  him,  with  the  rhyth- 
mical swaying  of  censers  and  the  rolling  tramp  of 
feet. 

"  Verbum  caro,  panem  veruin, 
Verbo  carnem  efficit ; 
Sitque  sanguis  Christ!  merum— 

Always  blood  and  always  blood!  The  carpet 
stretched  before  him  like  a  red  river;  the  roses  lay 

like  blood  splashed  on  the  stones Oh,  God! 

Is  all  Thine  earth  grown  red,  and  all  Thy  heaven? 

Ah,  what  is  it  to  Thee,  Thou  mighty  God 

Thou,  whose  very  lips  are  smeared  with  blood! 

"Tantum  ergo  Sacramentum, 
Veneremur  cernui." 

He  looked  through  the  crystal  shield  at  the 
Eucharist.  What  was  that  oozing  from  the 
wafer — dripping  down  between  the  points  of  the 
golden  sun — down  on  to  his  white  robe?  What 
had  he  seen  dripping  down — dripping  from  a  lifted 
hand? 

The  grass  in  the  courtyard  was  trampled  and 
red, — all  red, — there  was  so  much  blood.  It  was 


THE  GADFLY.  359 

trickling  down  the  cheek,  and  dripping  from  the 
pierced  right  hand,  and  gushing  in  a  hot  red  tor- 
rent from  the  wounded  side.  Even  a  lock  of  the 
hair  was  dabbled  in  it, — the  hair  that  lay  all  wet 
and  matted  on  the  forehead — ah,  that  was  the 
death-sweat;  it  came  from  the  horrible  pain. 

The  voices  of  the  choristers  rose  higher,  tri- 
umphantly: 

"  Genitori,  genitoque, 
Laus  et  jubilatio, 
Salus,  honor,  virtus  quoque, 
Sit  et  benedictio." 

Oh,  that  is  more  than  any  patience  can  endure! 
God,  Who  sittest  on  the  brazen  heavens  en- 
throned, and  smilest-  with  bloody  lips,  looking 
down  upon  agony  and  death,  is  it  not  enough?  Is 
it  not  enough,  without  this  mockery  of  praise  and 
blessing?  Body  of  Christ,  Thou  that  wast  broken 
for  the  salvation  of  men;  blood  of  Christ,  Thou 
that  wast  shed  for  the  remission  of  sins;  is  it  not 
enough? 

Ah,  call  Him  louder;  perchance  He  sleepeth! 

Dost  Thou  sleep  indeed,  dear  love;  and  wilt 
Thou  never  wake  again?  Is  the  grave  so  jealous 
of  its  victory;  and  will  the  black  pit  under  the  tree 
not  loose  Thee  even  for  a  little,  heart's  delight? 

Then  the  Thing  behind  the  crystal  shield  made 
answer,  and  the  blood  dripped  down  as  It  spoke: 

'*  Hast  thou  chosen,  and  wilt  repent  of  thy 
choice?  Is  thy  desire  not  fulfilled?  Look  upon 
these  men  that  walk  in  the  light  and  are  clad  in 
silk  and  in  gold:  for  their  sake  was  I  laid  in  the 
black  pit.  Look  upon  the  children  scattering 
roses,  and  hearken  to  their  singing  if  it  be  sweet: 
for  their  sake  is  my  mouth  filled  with  dust,  and  the 
roses  are  red  from  the  well-springs  of  my  heart. 


360  THE  GADFLY. 

See  where  the  people  kneel  to  drink  the  blood  that 
drips  from  thy  garment-hem:  for  their  sake  was 
it  shed,  to  quench  their  ravening  thirst.  For  it  is 
written:  '  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  if 
a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.'  ' 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  Arthur;  there  is  greater  love  than 
this!  If  a  man  lay  down  the  life  of  his  best  be- 
loved, is  not  that  greater?  " 

And  It  answered  again: 

"  Who  is  thy  best  beloved?     In  sooth,  not  I." 

And  when  he  would  have  spoken  the  words 
froze  on  his  tongue,  for  the  singing  of  the  choris- 
ters passed  over  them,  as  the  north  wind  over  icy 
pools,  and  hushed  them  into  silence: 

"  Dedit  fragilibus  corporis  ferculum, 
Declit  ct  tristibus  sanguinis  poculum, 
Dicens  :  Accipite,  quod  trado  vasculum 
Omnes  ex  eo  bibite." 

Drink  of  it,  Christians;  drink  of  it,  all  of  you! 
Is  it  not  yours?  For  you  the  red  stream  stains 
the  grass;  for  you  the  living  flesh  is  seared  and 
torn.  Eat  of  it,  cannibals;  eat  of  it,  all  of  you! 
This  is  your  feast  and  your  orgie;  this  is  the  day  of 
your  joy!  Haste  you  and  come  to  the  festival; 
join  the  procession  and  march  with  us;  women 
and  children,  young  men  and  old  men — come  to 
.the  sharing  of  flesh!  Come  to  the  pouring  of 
blood-wine  and  drink  of  it  while  it  is  red;  take 
and  eat  of  the  Body — 

Ah,  God;  the  fortress!  Sullen  and  brown,  with 
crumbling  battlements  and  towers  dark  among  the 
barren  hills,  it  scowled  on  the  procession  sweep- 
ing past  in  the  dusty  road  below.  The  iron  teeth 
of  the  portcullis  were  drawn  down  over  the  mouth 
of  the  gate;  and  as  a  beast  crouched  on  the  moun- 


THE  GADFLY.  361 

tain-side,  the  fortress  guarded  its  prey.  Yet,  be 
the  teeth  clenched  never  so  fast,  they  shall  be 
broken  and  riven  asunder;  and  the  grave  in  the 
courtyard  within  shall  yield  up  her  dead.  For  the 
Christian  hosts  are  marching,  marching  in  mighty 
procession  to  their  sacramental  feast  of  blood,  as 
marches  an  army  of  famished  rats  to  the  gleaning; 
and  their  cry  is:  "Give!  Give!"  and  they  say 
not:  "  It  is  enough." 

"  Wilt  thou  not  be  satisfied?  For  these  men 
was  I  sacrificed;  thou  hast  destroyed  me  that  they 
might  live;  and  behold,  they  march  everyone  on 
his  ways,  and  they  shall  not  break  their  ranks. 

'  This  is  the  army  of  Christians,  the  followers  of 
thy  God;  a  great  people  and  a  strong.  A  fire 
devoureth  before  them,  and  behind  them  a  flame 
burneth;  the  land  is  as  the  garden  of  Eden  before 
them,  and  behind  them  a  desolate  wilderness;  yea, 
and  nothing  shall  escape  them." 

"  Oh,  yet  come  back,  come  back  to  me,  beloved; 
for  I  repent  me  of  my  choice!  Come  back,  and  we 
will  creep  away  together,  to  some  dark  and  silent 
grave  where  the  devouring  army  shall  not  find  us; 
and  we  will  lay  us  down  there,  locked  in  one  an- 
other's arms,  and  sleep,  and  sleep,  and  sleep.  And 
the  hungry  Christians  shall  pass  by  in  the  merci- 
less daylight  above  our  heads;  and  when  they  howl 
for  blood  to  drink  and  for  flesh  to  eat,  their  cry 
shall  be  faint  in  our  ears;  and  they  shall  pass  on 
their  ways  and  leave  us  to  our  rest." 

And  It  answered  yet  again: 

"Where  shall  I  hide  me?  Is  it  not  written: 
'They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in  the  city;  they  shall 
run  upon  the  wall;  they  shall  climb  up  upon  the 
houses;  they  shall  enter  in  at  the  windows  like  a 
thief? '  If  I  build  me  a  tomb  on  the  mountain- 


362  THE  GADFLY. 

top,  shall  they  not  break  it  open?  If  I  dig  me  a 
grave  in  the  river-bed,  shall  they  not  tear  it  up? 
Verily,  they  are  keen  as  blood-hounds  to  seek  out 
their  prey;  and  for  them  are  my  wounds  red,  that 
they  may  drink.  Canst  thott  not  hear  them,  what 
they  sing?  " 

And  they  sang,  as  they  went  in  between  the 
scarlet  curtains  of  the  Cathedral  door;  for  the 
procession  was  over,  and  all  the  roses  were  strewn: 

"  Ave,  verum  Corpus,  natum 
De  Maria  Virgine  : 
Vere  passum,  immolatum 
In  eruce  pro  homine  ! 
Cujus  latus  perforatum 
Unclam  fluxit  cum  sanguinae  ; 
Esto  nobis  praegustatum 
Mortis  in  examinae." 

And  when  they  had  left  off  singing,  he  entered 
at  the  doorway,  and  passed  between  the  silent  rows 
of  monks  and  priests,  where  they  knelt,  each  man 
in  his  place,  with  the  lighted  candles  uplifted. 
And  he  saw  their  hungry  eyes  fixed  on  the  sacred 
Body  that  he  bore;  and  he  knew  why  they  bowed 
their  heads  as  he  passed.  For  the  dark  stream 
ran  down  the  folds  of  his  white  vestments;  and  on 
the  stones  of  the  Cathedral  floor  his  footsteps  left 
a  deep,  red  stain. 

So  he  passed  up  the  nave  to  the  chancel  rails; 
and  there  the  bearers  paused,  and  he  went  out 
from  under  the  canopy  and  up  to  the  altar  steps. 
To  left  and  right  the  white-robed  acolytes  knelt 
with  their  censers  and  the  chaplains  with  their 
torches;  and  their  eyes  shone  greedily  in  the  flar- 
ing light  as  they  watched  the  Body  of  the  Victim. 

And  as  he  stood  before  the  altar,  holding  aloft 
with  blood-stained  hands  the  torn  and  mangled 


THE  GADFLY.  363 

body  of  his  murdered  love,  the  voices  of  the  guests 
bidden  to  the  Eucharistic  feast  rang  out  in  another 
peal  of  song: 

"  Oh  salutaris  Hostia, 
Quae  coeli  pandis  ostium ; 
Bella  praemunt  hostilia, 
Da  robur,  fer,  auxilium  ! " 

Ah,  and  now  they  come  to  take  the  Body 

Go  then,  dear  heart,  to  thy  bitter  doom,  and  open 
the  gates  of  heaven  for  these  ravening  wolves  that 
will  not  be  denied.  The  gates  that  are  opened  for 
me  are  the  gates  of  the  nethermost  hell. 

And  as  the  deacon  of  honour  placed  the  sacred 
vessel  on  the  altar,  Montanelli  sank  down  where 
he  had  stood,  and  knelt  upon  the  step;  and  from 
the  white  altar  above  him  the  blood  flowed  down, 
and  dripped  upon  his  head.  And  the  voices  of  the 
singers  rang  on,  pealing  under  the  arches  and 
echoing  along  the  vaulted  roof: 

"  Uni  trinoque  Domino 
Sit  sempiterna  gloria : 
Qui  vitam  sine  termino 
Nobis  donet  in  patria." 

"Sine  termino — sine  termino!"  Oh,  happy 
Jesus,  Who  could  sink  beneath  His  cross!  Oh, 
happy  Jesus,  Who  could  say:  "  It  is  finished!  " 
This  doom  is  never  ended;  it  is  eternal  as  the  stars 
in  their  courses.  This  is  the  worm  that  dieth  not 
and  the  fire  that  is  not  quenched.  "  Sine  termino, 
sine  termino!  " 

Wearily,  patiently,  he  went  through  his  part  in 
the  remaining  ceremonies,  fulfilling  mechanically, 
from  old  habit,  the  rites  that  had  no  longer  any 
meaning  for  him.  Then,  after  the  benediction,  he 
knelt  down  again  before  the  altar  and  covered  his 
face;  and  the  voice  of  the  priest  reading  aloud  the 


364  THE  GADFLY. 

list  of  indulgences  swelled  and  sank  like  a  far-off 
murmur  from  a  world  to  which  he  belonged  no 
more. 

The  voice  broke  off,  and  he  stood  up  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  silence.  Some  of  the 
congregation  were  moving  towards  the  doors;  and 
they  turned  back  with  a  hurried  rustle  and  mur- 
mur, as  a  whisper  went  through  the  Cathedral: 
"  His  Eminence  is  going  to  speak." 

His  ministers,  startled  and  wondering,  drew 
closer  to  him  and  one  of  them  whispered  hastily: 
'  Your  Eminence,  do  you  intend  to  speak  to  the 
people  ivow?  " 

Montanelli  silently  waved  him  aside.  The 
priests  drew  back,  whispering  together;  the  thing 
was  unusual,  even  irregular;  but  it  was  within  the 
Cardinal's  prerogative  if  he  chose  to  do  it.  No 
doubt,  he  had  some  statement  of  exceptional  im- 
portance to  make;  some  new  reform  from  Rome 
to  announce  or  a  special  communication  from  the 
Holy  Father. 

Montanelli  looked  down  from  the  altar-steps 
upon  the  sea  of  upturned  faces.  Full  of  eager 
expectancy  they  looked  up  at  him  as  he  stood 
above  them,  spectral  and  still  and  white. 

"Sh-sh!  Silence!"  the  leaders  of  the  proces- 
sion called  softly;  and  the  murmuring  of  the  con- 
gregation died  into  stillness,  as  a  gust  of  wind  dies 
among  whispering  tree-tops.  All  the  crowd  gazed 
up,  in  breathless  silence,  at  the  white  figure  on  the 
altar-steps.  Slowly  and  steadily  he  began  to 
speak: 

"  It  is  written  in  the  Gospel  according  to  St. 
John:  '  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  He  gave  His 
only  begotten  Son  that  the  world  through  Him 
might  be  saved.' 


THE  GADFLY.  365 

"  This  is  the  festival  of  the  Body  and  Blood  of 
the  Victim  who  was  slain  for  your  salvation;  the 
Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the 
world;  the  Son  of  God,  Who  died  for  your  trans- 
gressions. And  you  are  assembled  here  in  solemn 
festival  array,  to  eat  of  the  sacrifice  that  was  given 
for  you,  and  to  render  thanks  for  this  great  mercy. 
And  I  know  that  this  morning,  when  you  came  to 
share  in  the  banquet,  to  eat  of  the  Body  of  the 
Victim,  your  hearts  were  filled  with  joy,  as  you 
remembered  the  Passion  of  God  the  Son,  Who 
died,  that  you  might  be  saved. 

"  But  tell  me,  which  among  you  has  thought  of 
that  other  Passion — of  the  Passion  of  God  the 
Father,  Who  gave  His  Son  to  be  crucified? 
Which  of  you  has  remembered  the  agony  of  God 
the  Father,  when  He  bent  from  His  throne  in  the 
heavens  above,  and  looked  down  upon  Calvary? 

"  I  have  watched  you  to-day,  my  people,  as  you 
walked  in  your  ranks  in  solemn  procession;  and  I 
have  seen  that  your  hearts  are  glad  within  you  for 
the  remission  of  your  sins,  and  that  you  rejoice  in 
your  salvation.  Yet  I  pray  you  that  you  con- 
sider at  what  price  that  salvation  was  bought. 
Surely  it  is  very  precious,  and  the  price  of  it  is 
above  rubies;  it  is  the  price  of  blood." 

A  faint,  long  shudder  passed  through  the  listen- 
ing crowd.  In  the  chancel  the  priests  bent  for- 
ward and  whispered  to  one  another;  but  the 
preacher  went  on  speaking,  and  they  held  their 
peace. 

'  Therefore  it  is  that  I  speak  with  you  this  day: 
I  AM  THAT  I  AM.  For  I  looked  upon  your  weak- 
ness and  your  sorrow,  and  upon  the  little  children 
about  your  feet ;  and  my  heart  was  moved  to  com- 
passion for  their  sake,  that  they  must  die.  Then 


366  THE  GADFLY. 

I  looked  into  my  dear  son's  eyes;  and  I  knew  that 
the  Atonement  of  Blood  was  there.  And  I  went 
my  way,  and  left  him  to  his  doom. 

'  This  is  the  remission  of  sins.  He  died  for  you, 
and  the  darkness  has  swallowed  him  up;  he  is 
dead,  and  there  is  no  resurrection;  he  is  dead,  and 
I  have  no  son.  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy!  " 

The  Cardinal's  voice  broke  in  a  long,  wailing 
cry;  and  the  voices  of  the  terrified  people  an- 
swered it  like  an  echo.  All  the  clergy  had  risen 
from  their  places,  and  the  deacons  of  honour 
started  forward  to  lay  their  hands  on  the  preacher's, 
arm.  But  he  wrenched  it  away,  and  faced  them 
suddenly,  with  the  eyes  of  an  angry  wild  beast. 

"  What  is  this?  Is  there  not  blood  enough? 
Wait  your  turn,  jackals;  you  shall  all  be  fed!  " 

They  shrank  away  and  huddled  shivering  to- 
gether, their  panting  breath  thick  and  loud,  their 
faces  white  with  the  whiteness  of  chalk.  Monta- 
nelli  turned  again  to  the  people,  and  they  swayed 
and  shook  before  him,  as  a  field  of  corn  before 
a  hurricane. 

"  You  have  killed  him!  You  have  killed  him! 
And  I  suffered  it,  because  I  would  not  let  you  die. 
And  now,  when  you  come  about  me  with  your 
lying  praises  and  youi  unclean  prayers,  I  repent 
me — I  repent  me  that  I  have  done  this  thing! 
It  were  better  that  you  all  should  rot  in  your  vices, 
in  the  bottomless  filth  of  damnation,  and  that  he 
should  live.  What  is  the  worth  of  your  plague- 
spotted  souls,  that  such  a  price  should  be  paid  for 
them?  But  it  is  too  late — too  late!  I  cry  aloud, 
but  he  does  not  hear  me;  I  beat  at  the  door  of  the 
grave,  but  he  will  not  wake;  I  stand  alone,  in 
desert  space,  and  look  around  me,  from  the  blood- 
stained earth  where  the  heart  of  my  heart  lies 


THE  GADFLY.  367 

buried,  to  the  void  and  awful  heaven  that  is  left 
unto  me,  desolate.  I  have  given  him  up;  oh, 
generation  of  vipers,  I  have  given  him  up  for  you! 

"  Take  your  salvation,  since  it  is  yours!  I  fling 
it  to  you  as  a  bone  is  flung  to  a  pack  of  snarl- 
ing curs!  The  price  of  your  banquet  is  paid  for 
you;  come,  then,  and  gorge  yourselves,  cannibals, 
bloodsuckers — carrion  beasts  that  feed  on  the 
dead!  See  where  the  blood  streams  down  from 
the  altar,  foaming  and  hot  from  my  darling's 
heart — the  blood  that  was  shed  for  you !  Wallow 
and  lap  it  and  smear  yourselves  red  with  it! 
Snatch  and  fight  for  the  flesh  and  devour  it — and 
trouble  me  no  more!  This  is  the  body  that  was 
given  for  you — look  at  it,  torn  and  bleeding, 
throbbing  still  with  the  tortured  life,  quivering 
from  the  bitter  death-agony;  take  it,  Christians, 
and  eat!" 

He  had  caught  up  the  sun  with  the  Host  and 
lifted  it  above  his  head;  and  now  flung  it  crashing 
down  upon  the  floor.  At  the  ring  of  the  metal  on 
stone  the  clergy  rushed  forward  together,  and 
twenty  hands  seized  the  madman. 

Then,  and  only  then,  the  silence  of  the  people 
broke  in  a  wild,  hysterical  scream;  and,  overturn- 
ing chairs  and  benches,  beating  at  the  doorways, 
trampling  one  upon  another,  tearing  down  cur- 
tains and  garlands  in  their  haste,  the  surging, 
sobbing  human  flood  poured  out  upon  the  street. 


EPILOGUE. 

"  GEMMA,  there's  a  man  downstairs  who  wants 
to  see  you."  Martini  spoke  in  the  subdued  tone 
which  they  had  both  unconsciously  adopted  dur- 
ing these  last  ten  days.  That,  and  a  certain  slow 
evenness  of  speech  and  movement,  were  the  sole 
expression  which  either  of  them  gave  to  their 
grief. 

Gemma,  with  bare  arms  and  an  apron  over  her 
dress,  was  standing  at  a  table,  putting  up  little 
packages  of  cartridges  for  distribution.  She  had 
stood  over  the  work  since  early  morning;  and 
now,  in  the  glaring  afternoon,  her  face  looked  hag- 
gard with  fatigue. 

"A  man,  Cesare?     What  does  he  want?" 

"  I  don't  know,  dear.  He  wouldn't  tell  me. 
He  said  he  must  speak  to  you  alone." 

"  Very  well."  She  took  off  her  apron  and 
pulled  down  the  sleeves  of  her  dress.  "  I  must  go 
to  him,  I  suppose;  but  very  likely  it's  only  a  spy." 

"  In  any  case,  I  shall  be  in  the  next  room,  within 
call.  As  soon  as  you  get  rid  of  him  you  had  bet- 
ter go  and  lie  down  a  bit.  You  have  been  stand- 
ing too  long  to-day." 

"  Oh,  no!     I  would  rather  go  on  working." 

She  went  slowly  down  the  stairs,  Martini  follow- 
ing in  silence.  She  had  grown  to  look  ten  years 
older  in  these  few  days,  and  the  gray  streak  across 
her  hair  had  widened  into  a  broad  band.  She 
mostly  kept  her  eyes  lowered  now;  but  when,  by 

368 


THE  GADFLY.  369 

chance,  she  raised  them,  he  shivered  at  the  horror 
in  their  shadows. 

In  the  little  parlour  she  found  a  clumsy-looking 
man  standing  with  his  heels  together  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor.  His  whole  figure  and  the  half- 
frightened  way  he  looked  up  when  she  came  in, 
suggested  to  her  that  he  must  be  one  of  the  Swiss 
guards.  He  wore  a  countryman's  blouse,  which 
evidently  did  not  belong  to  him,  and  kept  glanc- 
ing round  as  though  afraid  of  detection. 

"Can  you  speak  German?"  he  asked  in  the 
heavy  Zurich  patois. 

"  A  little.     I  hear  you  want  to  see  me." 

"  You  are  Signora  Bolla?  I've  brought  you  a 
letter." 

"  A — letter?  "  She  was  beginning  to  tremble, 
and  rested  one  hand  on  the  table  to  steady  herself. 

"  I'm  one  of  the  guard  over  there."  He 
pointed  out  of  the  window  to  the  fortress  on  the 
hill.  "  It's  from — the  man  that  was  shot  last 
week.  He  wrote  it  the  night  before.  I  promised 
him  I'd  give  it  into  your  own  hand  myself." 

She  bent  her  head  down.  So  he  had  written 
after  all. 

"  That's  why  I've  been  so  long  bringing  it,"  the 
soldier  went  on.  "  He  said  I  was  not  to  give  it  to 
anyone  but  you,  and  I  couldn't  get  off  before — 
they  watched  me  so.  I  had  to  borrow  these 
things  to  come  in." 

He  was  fumbling  in  the  breast  of  his  blouse. 
The  weather  was  hot,  and  the  sheet  of  folded 
paper  that  he  pulled  out  was  not  only  dirty  and 
crumpled,  but  damp.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
shuffling  his  feet  uneasily;  then  put  up  one  hand 
and  scratched  the  back  of  his  head. 

"  You   won't   say  anything,"   he   began   again 


370  THE  GADFLY. 

timidly,  with  a  distrustful  glance  at  her.  "  It's  as 
much  as  my  life's  worth  to  have  come  here." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  not  say  anything.  No, 
wait  a  minute " 

As  he  turned  to  go,  she  stopped  him,  feeling  for 
her  purse;  but  he  drew  back,  offended. 

"  I  don't  want  your  money,"  he  said  roughly. 
"  I  did  it  for  him — because  he  asked  me  to.  I'd 
have  done  more  than  that  for  him.  He'd  been 
good  to  me — God  help  me !  " 

The  little  catch  in  his  voice  made  her  look  up. 
He  was  slowly  rubbing  a  grimy  sleeve  across  his 
eyes. 

"  We  had  to  shoot,"  he  went  on  under  his 
breath;  "my  mates  and  I.  A  man  must  obey 
orders.  We  bungled  it,  and  had  to  fire  again — 
and  he  laughed  at  us — he  called  us  the  awkward 
squad — and  he'd  been  good  to  me— 

There  was  silence  in  the  room.  A  moment 
later  he  straightened  himself  up,  made  a  clumsy 
military  salute,  and  went  away. 

She  stood  still  for  a  little  while  with  the  paper 
in  her  hand;  then  sat  down  by  the  open  window 
to  read.  The  letter  was  closely  written  in  pencil, 
and  in  some  parts  hardly  legible.  But  the  first 
two  words  stood  out  quite  clear  upon  the  page; 
and  they  were  in  English : 

"  Dear  Jim." 

The  writing  grew  suddenly  blurred  and  misty. 
And  she  had  lost  him  again — had  lost  him  again! 
At  the  sight  of  the  familiar  childish  nickname  all 
the  hopelessness  of  her  bereavement  came  over 
her  afresh,  and  she  put  out  her  hands  in  blind 
desperation,  as  though  the  weight  of  the  earth- 
clods  that  lay  above  him  were  pressing  on  her 
heart. 


THE  GADFLY.  37  * 

Presently  she  took  up  the  paper  again  and  went 
on  reading: 

"  I  am  to  be  shot  at  sunrise  to-morrow.  So 
if  I  am  to  keep  at  all  my  promise  to  tell  you  every- 
thing, I  must  keep  it  now.  But,  after  all,  there  is 
not  much  need  of  explanations  between  you  and 
me.  We  always  understood  each  other  without 
many  words,  even  when  we  were  little  things. 

"  And  so,  you  see,  my  dear,  you  had  no  need  to 
break  your  heart  over  that  old  story  of  the  blow. 
It  was  a  hard  hit,  of  course;  but  I  have  had  plenty 
of  others  as  hard,  and  yet  I  have  managed  to  get 
over  them, — even  to  pay  back  a  few  of  them, — and 
here  I  am  still,  like  the  mackerel  in  our  nursery- 
book  (I  forget  its  name),  '  Alive  and  kicking, 
oh! '  This  is  my  last  kick,  though;  and  then,  to- 
morrow morning,  and — '  Finita  la  Commedia! ' 
You  and  I  will  translate  that :  '  The  variety  show 
is  over';  and  will  give  thanks  to  the  gods  that 
they  have  had,  at  least,  so  much  mercy  on  us.  It 
is  not  much,  but  it  is  something;  and  for  this  and 
all  other  blessings  may  we  be  truly  thankful! 

"  About  that  same  to-morrow  morning,  I  want 
both  you  and  Martini  to  understand  deafly  that 
I  am  quite  happy  and  satisfied,  and  could  ask 
no  better  thing  of  Fate.  Tell  that  to  Martini 
as  a  message  from  me;  he  is  a  good  fellow  and  a 
good  comrade,  and  he  will  understand.  You  see, 
dear,  I  know  that  the  stick-in-the-mud  people  are 
doing  us  a  good  turn  and  themselves  a  bad  one 
by  going  back  to  secret  trials  and  executions  so 
soon,  and  I  know  that  if  you  who  are  left  stand 
together  steadily  and  hit  hard,  you  will  see  great 
things.  As  for  me,  I  shall  go  out  into  the  court- 
yard with  as  light  a  heart  as  any  child  starting 


372  THE  GADFLY. 

home  for  the  holidays.  I  have  done  my  share  of 
the  work,  and  this  death-sentence  is  the  proof  that 
I  have  done  it  thoroughly.  They  kill  me  because 
they  are  afraid  of  me;  and  what  more  can  any  man's 
heart  desire? 

"  It  desires  just  one  thing  more,  though.  A  man 
who  is  going  to  die  has  a  right  to  a  personal  fancy, 
and  mine  is  that  you  should  see  why  I  have  always 
been  such  a  sulky  brute  to  you,  and  so  slow  to  for- 
get old  scores.  Of  course,  though,  you  under- 
stand why,  and  I  tell  you  only  for  the  pleasure  of 
writing  the  words.  I  loved  you,  Gemma,  when  you 
were  an  ugly  little  girl  in  a  gingham  frock,  with  a 
scratchy  tucker  and  your  hair  in  a  pig-tail  down 
your  back;  and  I  love  you  still.  Do  you  remem- 
ber that  day  when  I  kissed  your  hand,  and  when 
you  so  piteously  begged  me  '  never  to  do  that 
again'  ?  It  was  a  scoundrelly  trick  to  play,  I  know; 
but  you  must  forgive  that;  and  now  I  kiss  the 
paper  where  I  have  written  your  name.  So  I  have 
kissed  you  twice,  and  both  times  without  your 
consent. 

"  That  is  all.     Good-bye,  my  dear." 

There  was  no  signature,  but  a  verse  which  they 
had  learned  together  as  children  was  written 
under  the  letter: 

"  Then  am  I 
A  happy  fly, 
If  I  live 
Or  if  I  die." 

Half  an  hour  later  Martini  entered  the  room, 

and,  startled  out  of  the  silence  of  half  a  life-time, 

threw  down  the  placard  he  was  carrying  and  flung 

his  arms  about  her. 

,  "  Gemma!     What  is  it,  for  God's  sake?     Don't 


THE  GADFLY.  373 

sob  Hke  that — you  that  never  cry!  Gemma! 
Gemma,  my  darling!  " 

"  Nothing,  Cesare;  I  will  tell  you  afterwards — I 
— can't  talk  about  it  just  now." 

She  hurriedly  slipped  the  tear-stained  letter  into 
her  pocket;  and,  rising,  leaned  out  of  the  window 
to  hide  her  face.  Martini  held  his  tongue  and  bit 
his  moustache.  After  all  these  years  he  had  be- 
trayed himself  like  a  schoolboy — and  she  had  not 
even  noticed  it! 

"  The  Cathedral  bell  is  tolling,"  she  said  after 
a  little  while,  looking  round  with  recovered  self- 
command.  "  Someone  must  be  dead." 

"  That  is  what  I  came  to  show  you,"  Martini 
answered  in  his  everyday  voice.  He  picked  up  the 
placard  from  the  floor  and  handed  it  to  her. 
Hastily  printed  in  large  type  was  a  black-bordered 
announcement  that:  "  Our  dearly  beloved  Bishop, 
His  Eminence  the  Cardinal,  Monsignor  Lorenzo 
Montanelli,"  had  died  suddenly  at  Ravenna,  "  from 
the  rupture  of  an  aneurism  of  the  heart." 

She  glanced  up  quickly  from  the  paper,  and 
Martini  answered  the  unspoken  suggestion  in  her 
eyes  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  What  would  you  have,  Madonna?  Aneurism 
is  as  good  a  word  as  any  other." 


THE    END. 


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